


The Power & the Glory

by JoMarch, RyoSen



Series: Partyverse [10]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 39,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarch/pseuds/JoMarch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyoSen/pseuds/RyoSen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  Story 10 of 10 of the Partyverse.</p><p>Originally Posted:  19 Sept 2002</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: True, many of the characters in this story belong to Aaron Sorkin, but we're awfully fond of the ones who don't: Susan Douglas-Radford, Toni Timian, Evan Drexler, Jesse Addox, Mark Haskell, and the whole lot of 'em
> 
> Thanks: To all of you who nudged us to finish this considerable undertaking, most especially the invaluable Marguerite and our Stalker Extraordinaire, Ms. Emily Meredith.

**Prologue: June 2006**

"Explain to me again exactly why it's to the Governor's benefit to be on this ticket."

Chris Marshall, Haskell's assistant campaign manager, studied the face of the woman who had just spoken and jotted down the name "Toni Timian" in the "hostile" column of her notebook. Chris was quite proud of the chart she was constructing in this meeting. As soon as she got back to her hotel room, she'd begin converting all this data into a spreadsheet. She was a firm believer in the power of the spreadsheet. The ability to convert all these messy arguments and contradictory motivations into charts and graphs made the political maneuvering easier to understand. Jason Bezdek laughed at her for this occasionally, but he had to admit her approach was working. If nothing else, it helped them keep track of the players and their motivations.

"Toni," Josh Lyman began. Chris made a mental note of the warning tone in the man's voice and crossed Lyman's name from the "hostile" category into the big "?" column.

To her surprise, most of the Bartleteers were under "?" This alone proved how useful her methods were. She'd expected them to be hostile. She'd expected them to be consumed with bitterness because their guy had lost the nomination.

Never jump to conclusions, she reminded herself. Keep an open mind.

As hard as that was to do where the Bartlet Gang was concerned. Chris was one of those Democrats who had never quite recovered from that sense of betrayal she'd felt when the Healthgate scandal broke. She'd been a junior aide in Haskell's office in those days, and she could still remember the shock and disillusionment that had obsessed people like her in the wake of Bartlet's announcement. She'd come to DC straight after getting her master's at Ohio State, feeling idealistic in the wake of Bartlet's victory. She'd watched the Healthgate hearings compulsively; she'd sat in restaurants and coffee shops engrossed in endless discussions with her friends and co-workers. While everyone she knew vigorously defended Bartlet from Republican attack, things were different when they discussed the situation with other Democrats. They never truly believed that skilled politicos like Leo McGarry and Josh Lyman had not known about their candidate's illness during the Bartlet for America campaign. For Chris, who had believed passionately in Josiah Bartlet's integrity, Healthgate had been a body blow. She'd never believe in a political candidate with the kind of fervor she'd once felt for Bartlet. She believed that Mark Haskell would make a good president, sure, but she'd long since given up believing in such a thing as a great president.

Because of them. The people in this room. The ones who'd manipulated public opinion and written the speeches and stood up in front of the press day after day and, in effect, rigged the 1998 election.

Which was why, Chris noted, she needed her spreadsheets. She could observe the Bartlet gang and fit them into her columns with more objectivity than she'd manage if she let her resentment get the better of her.

"No, Josh," Chris heard Toni Timian say. Toni, she noted, was still the type whose loyalty was primarily to her candidate instead of to the Party. Chris thanked her lucky stars she'd learned that lesson early in her career. She couldn't imagine reaching Toni's age and risking having her heart broken when she found out that her candidate was only human. "So far, all I'm hearing is how the Governor can help Haskell. I don't see what we're getting out of this except the chance to spend the next eight years not talking about the issues that matter to us."

"Well, there's the part where the Governor makes history by becoming the first female vice president," Donna Moss said.

Donna Moss, Chris reflected, was the unknown factor among the Bartlet Five. It had taken Chris some time to place Donna. She'd finally remembered Donna from the hearings -- the soft voice with the slight tremor at odds with that unblinking stare, and the shocked look when one of the Congressmen intimated that Donna Moss and her boss might be having a sexual relationship. To judge from her reaction, Chris thought, the idea of sleeping with Josh Lyman had never occurred to his assistant.

It was a hell of a good performance, and no one in Chris' circle had believed a word of it.

Donna Moss, they agreed, was a type. They could name half a dozen women just like her -- the office wife, with her slavish devotion to her boss. Of course she'd slept with him. Of course he'd end up making a politically advantageous marriage with someone more appropriate, and of course Donna Moss would stay with him and revel in the fact that she understood him better than his clueless trophy wife ever could.

So Chris and her friends had pretty much dismissed Donna's testimony and forgotten about her existence. When Chris had realized, a month into primary season, exactly who Douglas-Radford's press secretary was, she'd been stunned. At first, her shock had been over the fact that Josh Lyman would do something as blatant as put his assistant/lover in charge of handling the press. But then she'd studied Donna's background and been thrown into confusion. The Donna Mosses of this world never, ever left the service of their bosses. Never. It was a basic fact of political life in DC. But Donna had apparently chosen to stay with the sinking Bartlet ship rather than accompany Josh to the Hoynes campaign. From there, she'd moved on to working for the Feminist Majority Foundation and getting her master's.

Another object lesson, Chris reminded herself. Even someone who is the perfect example of a type in this business can fool you.

"Look at this schedule you're proposing for the Governor," Timian continued, waving a printout in the air. "You've got her speaking to NOW, the League of Women Voters, and my personal favorite, the DAR. You're pigeonholing her as the woman candidate."

"We need her addressing these groups," Jason Bezdek replied. "The Governor has a strong constituency among female voters. That's where she'll be the biggest asset to the campaign."

"The DAR? You think a lot of DAR members are planning to vote Democratic?" CJ Cregg asked, leaning back in her chair. Bartlet's former press secretary always looked to Chris as though she was about to burst out laughing. Cregg was easily the most content person Chris could remember seeing. Again, exactly the opposite of what Chris had expected.

Chris had seen CJ Cregg on television countless times during Bartlet's tenure. Unlike some of her friends, Chris had pitied CJ Cregg when the Healthgate scandal broke. Chris had imagined that CJ Cregg, public face of the Bartlet administration, was being set up to take the fall. Surely the person who'd spent years assuring the press that Jed Bartlet was in good health and the government was running smoothly would be expendable. Chris was willing to bet that CJ Cregg had never been in the loop, that she'd been excluded from the White House boys' club. At the very least, Chris had expected that the post-Healthgate CJ Cregg would be a bitter woman. This woman who took everything with poise and good humor was not at all the person Chris had expected.

If the female members of the Bartlet Gang had surprised Chris, the men were pretty much what she'd expected.

"We're not criticizing your strategy," Sam Seaborn said. "It's just that you don't know the Governor like we do, so you might be unaware that her strengths include more than her appeal to women. Susan Douglas-Radford has constituencies among younger voters, blacks, labor -- these are all groups we're going to need in November."

Sam Seaborn, in Chris' opinion, was the lightweight of the group. Clearly, his assigned role was that of peacemaker. Chris had always imagined that Josh Lyman and Leo McGarry had kept Seaborn around so they could trot him out for the Sunday morning talk shows. His movie star smile and his sunny disposition made him the perfect politico for the media age. Unencumbered by baggage like CJ Cregg's gender or Lyman and Ziegler's religion, Seaborn was obviously being groomed as Bartlet's political heir. True, the prostitute scandal might have hurt him, but that could have been overcome. Once Sam Seaborn was outfitted with a photogenic wife and a couple of adorable children for the TV ads, the incident with the hooker would have been easily dismissed as a "youthful indiscretion." Besides, a friend of hers who claimed to have perfect gaydar swore that Seaborn gave off vibes. As difficult as Chris found that to believe, she agreed that the heterosexual scandal in Seaborn's past could help deflect any suspicions about his lifestyle.

She should probably label Seaborn "friendly," Chris thought, but some instinct led her to put his name in the "?" column. Maybe because he was, in her opinion, impossibly chipper and way too willing to help. Probably he was simply very, very good at hiding his feelings. After all, instead of running for office himself, he was practicing law in the Bay Area and jumping at the chance to write speeches for a candidate who'd never stood a chance in hell of winning the nomination. The more Chris thought about it, the more she was willing to bet that Sam Seaborn was just very good at hiding his bitterness.

As opposed to Toby Ziegler, whose bitterness was very much on the surface. Ziegler rarely spoke -- less than a dozen words had come out of his mouth this morning -- yet the Bartlet Gang hung on to his every pronouncement as though it contained some great pearl of wisdom. She'd noticed that, informally, the others would tease Ziegler, but in situations like this... It was always Ziegler's good opinion all of them, even Josh Lyman, craved. As for Chris, she couldn't decide whether Ziegler was quiet because he'd stopped caring or because he cared too deeply.

Just as she'd expected, Josh Lyman glanced briefly at Ziegler as though searching for confirmation. Lyman gave an almost imperceptible nod in Ziegler's direction as though some signal had passed between the two of them, as though they were agreeing to back Seaborn up. "Sam's right," Lyman said. "We're not just thinking about the Governor's image here. We want the party to win, and this is how she can help make that happen."

Josh Lyman. Dear lord, Chris thought, the man represented every cliché about politicians that made her want to apologize for her profession. He was a blatant opportunist, moving from a cushy job in Senator Hoynes' office to the Bartlet campaign and an even cushier job in the West Wing. And once it became clear that Bartlet wouldn't win re-nomination, what did Josh Lyman do? Somehow he managed to worm his way back into the Hoynes camp.

Ten minutes in the man's presence, and Chris wanted to take a shower.

Yet Jason maintained that, of all Douglas-Radford's staff, Josh Lyman was the one they'd be able to work with most easily; and Chris' spreadsheets seemed to confirm that opinion. Lyman talked in terms of rebuilding the party, winning back the White House. His pragmatism seemed to work in Senator Haskell's favor.

Chris remembered a conversation between Dennis Cybrynski, the media director, and Jason during the primaries, once they realized that Douglas-Radford posed a serious challenge. Dennis had been in favor of attacking Douglas-Radford for her reliance on the Bartlet Gang, especially Lyman. Jason had nixed that idea. Any attack on Josh Lyman would backfire on them. Yes, Jason agreed, Lyman had undoubtedly been the architect of Healthgate, even if Congress couldn't prove it. But news coverage of the hearings had proved something else -- mention the name Josh Lyman and many Americans were thrust back into that terrifying night in May 2000 when Bartlet was shot and the networks had broadcast hourly updates on whether Lyman would live or die.

Dumb luck, in Chris' opinion. The man had had the dumb luck to take a bullet meant for someone else and many Americans considered him a hero, whatever misdeeds of his came to light. Around the Beltway, conventional wisdom had been that Lyman had escaped any sort of censure for concealing Bartlet's illness, rigging an election and participating in a cover-up all because people on both sides of the aisle didn't want to be seen as ganging up on a shooting victim.

Apparently, with the passage of time, Ann Stark at least was getting over that, judging from some of the stories making the rounds of the right-wing rags. Just as apparently, however, the mud wasn't sticking.

Chris wasn't sure how she felt about that.

***

Toby wasn't sure what the hell Chris Marshall kept writing on her notepad, and it was starting to annoy him. She'd stare, lips pursed in concentration, at whoever was speaking, and then scribble something. It was quite irritating. To be fair, the entire meeting was irritating; Haskell's staffers hadn't been condescending. Not really. But the itinerary they'd sketched out for the Douglas-Radford group had been something of a slap in the face.

Women's groups, women's groups, and more women's groups. It was as if she were a magnet for the pollster-constructed "soccer mom" who represented the swing vote. In Toby's estimation, after working his Get Out the Vote program, pollsters relying on traditional voting patterns might be in for something of a surprise come November. Sure, women (especially middle class, moderate women) were important swing voters. But what really interested Toby were the political rumblings from traditional non-voters and first-time voters.

College campuses were no longer the hotbeds of political activism they had been in the sixties (when, it should be noted, Susan Douglas-Radford herself had been something of a campus activist), but the tanking economy plus the obvious ties between the White House and Big Business were enough to raise some interest. From his time on various campuses, Toby knew that professional activist Melvin Scriabine's third-party run was a sentimental favorite amongst left-wing students. But for better or worse, America had a two-party system; and Toby figured that a fair amount of Scriabine supporters would come around to the Haskell/Douglas-Radford ticket, if only to get Baker out of office.

That is, if the Haskell/Douglas-Radford ticket didn't self-destruct before the damn convention.

Glaring in Chris' general direction, Toby interrupted that nasally twit Dennis. "I can guarantee you, right here, right now, that if we bring this proposed schedule to the Governor, she will take it directly to the Senator and tell him where he can--"

"Toby!" CJ admonished, sitting up a little straighter in her seat to give him a warning look. She turned to Chris. "What Toby is trying to say, in his typically blunt fashion, is that this isn't going to fly. I appreciate that the Governor has a strong female following, but--"

"CJ," Dennis interjected, "we need to present a unified front." He shifted his squirrelly little gaze to Josh. Apparently, Toby thought, Dennis was under the impression that Josh Lyman would be more amenable to illogical arguments about what was good for the party. Dennis seemed to think that the events of 2002 had somehow marked Josh as a party loyalist whose allegiance to any one candidate could be shifted with nonsense about party unity. What Dennis didn't realize was that although Josh's status as a lawyer was nominal at best, he did possess the powers of reason God gave a two year old and could clearly see through Dennis' idiotic arguments. Like, "We need to bring back the Democrats who splintered off to support Douglas-Radford--"

"Splintered off?" Donna repeated, eyebrows raised. "Isn't that kind of the point of a primary season?"

"I think what Dennis is trying to say," Jason Bezdek drawled, in his typical role, Toby groused, as interpreter to the idiots, "is that the Governor drew a female-heavy base. In order to make sure we don't lose that base--"

"To whom?" Toni wondered aloud, flashing Toby a look that said 'can you believe this absurdity?'

Bezdek kept right on talking. He was somehow able to mow down objections without seeming particularly rude; Toby figured it must be the accent. Bezdek very rarely showed any sort of emotion or passion, maintaining his impassive expression the vast majority of the time. "We need to do some outreach. Who better to send than the Governor, who these groups supported in the first place?"

Sam frowned, brow furrowed slightly. "You're saying that because this phantom 'splinter' group supported the Governor, we should send the Governor to address them to make sure they support her?"

Toby bit back a smirk and nodded almost imperceptibly at Sam, who ducked his head to hide his smile. "As Sam points out," Toby said, "if your objective is to unify the party and not, as I suspect, to tweak your nose at the Governor, it would make more sense to send the Senator out to address Douglas-Radford's supporters, and vice versa."

"Women look up to her," Chris pointed out, studying him with her unnervingly intense gaze. She had the palest blue eyes Toby had ever seen, and a certain talent for stating her opinion as if it were God's own. "She'd do more good at meet-and-greets with women."

"Again, I point out that you have her slated to talk to the DAR," CJ noted dryly. "I don't think shaking hands is gonna quite swing that constituency our way."

Nodding absently, Toni tapped a finger against the proposed itinerary. "And what's this note at the bottom about the Convention?"

Toby leaned sideways, trying to catch a glimpse of the schedule, as his own was already filed in its final resting place: under a half-eaten Twinkie in the trash can. Unfortunately, Toni was still brandishing the paper at the Haskell staffers, making it rather difficult for Toby to read.

Jason and Dennis exchanged looks, but of course it was Chris who spoke. "We need to start thinking about which prominent female Democrat should introduce the Governor at the Convention."

Toby groaned as the Douglas-Radford staffers erupted into protests and expressions of disbelief. It was going to be a long damn campaign.

* * *

**July 2006**

From her position sprawled sideways on an overstuffed yet uncomfortable chair, CJ watched Donna hang up the phone and rejoin the group, apparently waiting for an opening in the conversation. She should've known better with this crowd, CJ thought. The gang -- save Toby, who was off dealing yet again with the college-aged Get Out the Vote organizers who made him crazy -- was gathered in Toni's suite, tossing around names of prominent Democrats who could be tapped to introduce the Governor at the convention.

When Josh, who was enumerating the many accomplishments of Senator Jesse Johnson Jr., was finally forced to pause for air, Donna lifted her hand slightly. "I've got a thing."

He smirked at her. "You really don't have to raise your hand."

CJ shifted a little, leaning further toward the edge of the chair so that she could see Donna more clearly around her own knees, which were draped over the arm. "Who was that?"

"Katie," Donna answered. "But that's not as important as the fact that I'm getting questions about the debates already."

Toni frowned. "We haven't even been nominated yet."

"Yes," Donna agreed.

"It's July."

Donna shrugged. "I know."

Sam frowned. "The election's four months away."

"Thank you, Sam," Donna answered sarcastically. "As someone who's unable to subtract seven from eleven--"

"You're right," Sam remarked to CJ, the edge of his mouth lifting in a small grin.

Donna turned a puzzled look CJ's way. "Huh?"

Sam's grin widened. "Yeah, ask CJ."

"Traitor," CJ muttered without much conviction. "I merely made the point that you've been hanging out with Josh too much."

Donna frowned. "What's that mean?"

"You're using your finely-honed powers of sarcasm for evil, which is one of Josh's less endearing traits."

"Hey, I am one-hundred percent endearing."

"Shut up, Josh," Donna answered with a cheerful grin. "And how am I using my powers for evil?"

"Your powers?" Josh scoffed.

CJ ignored him and told Donna, "You're, you know, snarking me."

"And me," Sam added.

"Okay," Josh interrupted, "can we concentrate on the actual thing here?"

Donna leaned over to CJ and asked, sotto voice, "It's still okay for me to snark Josh, though, right?"

"Of course," CJ answered.

Josh rolled his eyes but didn't comment. "Why are we being bothered about the debates now?"

"Nail 'em down early," Sam answered. "We did the same thing in '98."

"Unsuccessfully," CJ added, staring at the place where the uglyass wallpaper met the ceiling. She was so, so tired. The last week had been a grueling, unending sequence of pre-convention planning. If she never heard another misused sports metaphor -- "It's a marathon, not a sprint" or "The Governor's really got to swing for the fences to justify her spot on the ticket" -- it would be entirely too soon.

Sam nodded absently. "Right. Donna, who's asking: the press, the Commission on Presidential Debates, or Baker's people?"

Donna grabbed her cellphone from the table and headed for the door. "I'll find out."

CJ groaned and pulled herself upright with very little enthusiasm. Sometimes, she yearned for those halcyon days of beating back the White House press corps with a precisely worded barb. At least those journalists had already made it to the top; they weren't looking to earn a promotion by breaking a scandalous story about the Governor. "Okay," she said with a demanding look at Sam, "what's going on in that devious little head of yours?"

Sam grinned brightly, Toni snickered, and Josh frowned, "Hey, I thought I was the devious one."

"Nah," Toni decided, "you're the Ivy League fascist."

Exasperated, Josh pointed at Sam. "He went to Princeton!"

CJ ignored Josh entirely. "Sam, what are you thinking?"

"That we should turn traditional campaign strategy on its head."

Josh smirked. "Didn't we pretty much cover that when we advised the Governor to admit that she'd smoked pot?"

Sam nodded, eyes aglow with idealistic fervor. "Yes, and it worked. I'm betting it will work again."

Josh tossed aside the briefing memo on Jesse Johnson Jr. and abandoned his spot by the window. He joined the small circle, dropping into a chair, leaning back, and propping his feet on the coffee table. Toni gave him an eloquent look, but he grinned at her and shrugged, "It's not like it's your furniture. Sam, where are you going with this?"

Sam straightened in his seat. "The voters don't watch the debates anymore."

CJ gave him a skeptical look. "I don't think NBC, ABC, CBS, and FOX got that memo."

Sam waved off her point. "No, I'm saying that viewership has declined. And it's because the voters are sick of seeing the same tired rhetoric from the candidates. Who doesn't know exactly what Baker's gonna say about gun control or abortion before he even opens his mouth at the debates? Who wants to hear him stumble over the issue for a three-minute answer or a two-minute rebuttal?"

Josh had that pensive, intrigued-but-cautious expression when he said, "Seriously, where are you going with this?"

Sam turned to Josh, his hands joining the conversation the way they did when he got really excited about something. "We need to change that."

Toni shrugged. "Okay, but I'm pretty sure we don't have time to call every single voter and convince him or her to watch the debates."

"No," Sam answered. "I'm saying we need a new format. Three ninety-minute debates with political analysts dissecting every word -- that's not working anymore. And it's not because the American public doesn't care; they watch the State of the Union from beginning to end, and you can't tell me they do it because Baker's a particularly engaging public speaker."

"No," Toni answered. "They do it because it's the State of the Union."

"Shouldn't the debate between the two candidates vying to be the one to deliver the State of the Union be just as important?" Sam argued.

"Yes." Josh leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "But this is a decision that we can't make for Haskell's team, Sam." He frowned. "Hell, I don't even know what you're proposing yet."

Sam grinned. "Mini-debates."

CJ pursed her lips. "Excuse me?"

"Mini-debates," Sam repeated. "We pick a network affiliate in each of the top twenty-five or thirty markets and sell them on the idea of putting a mini-debate between Haskell and Baker, and between the Governor and Shallick, on their six o'clock news broadcast, say, in between weather and sports."

Josh shook his head. "Sam--"

"That's good," CJ interrupted, automatically running through her mental Rolodex. "I know people at NBC4, KABC, WNBC, WBZ, KVUE -- I'm pretty sure they'd be receptive."

"Hold on," Josh said, holding one hand up in the air. "I'm not even sure that we're receptive."

"Why not?" Sam implored. "We certainly have nothing to fear from Baker's powers of debate. Or, you know, speech."

Josh clasped his hands together. "Point granted, but we're not Haskell's campaign staff."

Donna re-entered, tossing her cellphone on the table. "On the record, the press is asking because they're gearing up for the most important twelve weeks of the 2006 campaign. Off the record, Baker's people are agitating to get the format and the times and the moderators set as soon as possible."

CJ nodded slowly. "Yeah, so they can try to get Chris Matthews as moderator, and a town hall format so they can pack the audience with ringers who'll lob softballs at their guy."

"And breaking balls at us," Josh mused.

CJ gave him a look. "Excuse me?"

"Breaking ball?" Josh prompted, miming a pitch. "Baseball? When the pitcher--"

"Never mind."

Sam waved off their digression. "See? This is what I'm talking about. The voters understand that the debates are an exercise in fully-rehearsed, un-spontaneous, and, quite frankly, boring reiterations of stump speeches."

"No one's arguing with you on that point, Sam," Toni pointed out. "It's the mini-debate idea that's giving us some trouble."

"Mini-debates?" Donna echoed.

"Five minutes on a local news program," CJ explained. "Question, rebuttal; question, rebuttal, I'm guessing."

Sam nodded. "Listen, this isn't the ideal solution, but it's a start. Something needs to change. In a gubernatorial campaign in the late '80s, the most amazing thing happened: Two politicians agreed to a ninety-minute conversation. The moderator opened with just one question, and the candidates took it from there." He paused, shaking his head in awed disbelief. "Can you imagine?"

"Baker would never agree to that," CJ said, her tone kind. She shared Sam's appreciation for the kind of politician who would not only agree to, but excel at, such an unstructured and ultimately rewarding debate. Susan Douglas-Radford would probably be pretty impressive; Jed Bartlet would be in his element. (If, CJ amended, he didn't give in to the urge to lecture his opponent on high-minded economic theory, thereby rendering his audience comatose.)

"Listen," Josh said, pushing himself upright. "We don't have to decide this right now. Sam, get me some numbers on this -- would voters watch? CJ, talk to someone at a couple stations, take the temperature of the network brass. Donna, leak the idea, strictly on background, and gauge press reaction."

He glanced at Toni, who nodded. "I'll talk to the Governor," Toni said. "But I can tell you right now, she's gonna love this idea."

* * *

"So," Jesse said, dropping into the seat beside Evan. "Detroit."

"Yeah," Evan muttered noncommittally, barely looking up from his laptop. He was in the middle of describing the interior of a campaign bus for posterity. The bright red accents, the sandpaper-like grey upholstery, the small, moderately static-y televisions tuned to CNN or MSNBC, the ever-present sound of six politicos all hopped up on caffeine and debating idealistic notions of truth, justice, and the American Way.

Just your typical day on the Douglas-Radford 2006 bus.

Well, technically it was now the Haskell/Douglas-Radford bus. Or really, one of several Haskell/Douglas-Radford buses. Evan wondered absently if Haskell's staffers had comfortable seats or smooth upholstery.

"Have you ever been there before?" Jesse asked.

Frowning, Evan hit Control-S and said, "Huh?"

"Detroit."

"What about it?"

"Have you ever been there?"

Evan blinked. "No." He noted the anticipation on Jesse's face, stifled a sigh, and closed up shop for the day. Figuratively speaking. As he tucked his laptop into its case, Evan asked, "Why? Have you?"

"Oh, yeah," Jesse answered brightly. "I've been there a few times. Academic conferences. Oh, and I think I may have stayed there one night during a road trip. I don't really remember, though. Could've been Chicago."

"Road trip, huh?"

"Well, it was college."

"Sounds fun," Evan observed, digging his bottle of water out of his bag. He tried his best not to drink too much while on the bus so that he could avoid the appallingly small bathroom. Josh, who was once locked into a bus bathroom by a vengeful CJ, didn't need much encouragement to discuss the tiny dimensions in detail. Evan took a small sip. "How long are we there for?"

"Uh... four days, I think," Jesse answered, glancing up at the ceiling as if the answer were written up there. "I've got to get back, so I'm flying out on Sunday."

"That's too bad, man," Evan said. "It's nice to have another normal person around."

"I heard that," CJ called from the back of the bus.

Laughing, Evan answered, "That's nice, dear."

Jesse shifted, trying (in vain, Evan supposed) to get comfortable in the awkward, ergonomically punishing seats. Evan glanced out the window, his gaze caught on the blur of flat, green countryside whizzing past.

"Oh, God," Jesse groaned. "Would you look at that?"

"What?" Evan asked, squinting at a small brown dot zipping past, trying to figure out if it was a cow or a bale of hay.

"Baker," Jesse said, gesturing to the TV. "And he's wearing a denim workshirt."

Nearly choking on a sip of water, Evan turned his attention to the TV hanging at an impossible angle over their heads. The TV meant for their row was a bit too far away for Evan to see clearly without his glasses, so he tilted his head back at an impossible angle and looked up at the monitor almost directly above his head. Jesse mimicked his posture, both men sitting with their heads craned backwards, mouths slightly agape as they watched the scene unfold.

It was like bad reality TV, Evan thought, only worse. Gregory W. Baker, in a denim workshirt with the presidential seal embroidered over the chest pocket, was shaking hands with what MSNBC was describing as "some strong supporters of the president." Baker greeted a well-coiffed couple who looked like they would be more comfortable in pearls and a Bill Blass necktie; their polite, polished children; and six or eight of their gated-community neighbors.

"Are these people for real?" Evan wondered, studying the expert way the husband played to the camera, and the mildly embarrassed looks on the kids' faces.

"Can't be," Jesse answered. "Do you see that chandelier? Who has a chandelier like that in their house?"

"The Rockefellers." Evan remarked sardonically.

Onscreen, Baker, seated now at the dining room table (set with silver and white linen), smiled at the camera and said, "Ken and Hyacinth--"

"Hyacinth?" Jesse spluttered, laughing. "Could these two be any WASPier?"

"--are," Baker continued, "the reason I'm running for re-election. Hyacinth wants to make sure little Kenny and Katrina have the best education this comp -- country can give them--"

"Oh, like Kenny and Katrina don't go to boarding school," Evan scoffed.

"--and Ken--" Here, Baker clapped the impressively tanned Ken on the shoulder-- "is concerned about the economy. He doesn't want his tax money--"

"Geez, nice gender bias," Evan commented, keeping his voice low so that CJ wouldn't hear the magic words and sic her colleagues at the Feminist Majority on Baker. Not, Evan mused, that that would be a bad thing. It just wouldn't do for CJ to even appear to mix her two positions -- national spokesperson for the Feminist Majority on temporary leave, and media director for the Douglas-Radford campaign.

"What?" Jesse asked belatedly. "Gender bias?"

"Shhh," Evan admonished, glancing over his shoulder. CJ was still engrossed in her strategy session with the others. Keeping his voice low, Evan explained, "He's concerned about the economy; she's concerned about her kids."

"Ah."

"--frivolous programs irresponsibly and unthinkingly funded by the Democratically controlled Congress."

"Frivolous?" Jesse fumed. "Like the grants that keep me employed and, consequently, keep America far ahead of other countries in scientific research?"

"It's people like Ken and Hyacinth," Baker continued, "people like their friends, Tucker and Nancy and the rest; people like you who make this country great. I share your concerns, America--"

"This is ridiculous," Evan muttered. "This isn't news. This is a -- a--"

"Valentine to the president?" Jesse suggested.

"Not quite the word I would have used, but that's pretty much it, yeah."

"Valentine to the president?" CJ asked, her voice growing louder as she approached. "What's a valentine to the president?"

Evan tilted his head a little bit farther, looking at his wife upside down. He grinned at her. "MSNBC is showing some--"

"Baker visits supporters in heartland," CJ read off the scrolling news ticker. "Josh, get over here."

"What's this--" Toby started, then he leaned closer to the TV. He tapped the smiling man standing behind the president and his good buddy Ken. "Is that Nolan?"

"Nolan?" CJ parroted, peering at the screen over the tops of her glasses. "Tucker Nolan?"

"Republican wunderkind Tucker Nolan?" Josh said, arriving just behind Evan and Jesse. "What about -- Why is Tucker Nolan on MSNBC?"

Donna asked, "Tucker Nolan's on--"

"Yes," Evan interrupted, pushing himself half out of his seat. "MSNBC is running some... thing with Baker visiting Ken and Hyacinth Somethingorother, and their monied neighbors."

Shaking his head, Josh asked, "How the hell is this news?"

"MSNBC, NBC, General Electric," Toby grumbled. "You think GE doesn't support Baker?"

"You're suggesting that the corporate parent of MSNBC is making editorial decisions?" Donna asked.

"Nothing that obvious," Sam said slowly. "But I mean -- does this look like a typical American family to you? Crystal chandeliers, five- or six-bedroom house? The median income in America is $44,148 per year." He shrugged. "This sure doesn't look like an objective story."

"There's no such thing as objectivity," CJ answered, shaking her head. "What interests me is--"

"What the hell is Tucker Nolan doing there?" Donna interrupted, frowning.

Josh ran a hand through his hair. "Canned photo op. Pretty standard stuff."

Evan and Jesse exchanged dubious looks. "Do we do that?" Evan asked.

The edge of her mouth quirked upward, and CJ echoed, "We?"

"You know what I mean."

"It's a visually driven news market," CJ shrugged. "Sad but true. We do try to get the--"

"Prettier," Sam suggested.

"Photogenic," Donna supplied. "We try to get photogenic people where the camera will catch them."

Frowning, Jesse stared at her, disappointed. "That's so..."

"Calculated," Evan finished.

"Price of doing business," Toby said. "This is an advertising-soaked marketplace; and if you don't think we're selling our candidate, you're sadly out of touch with reality."

Evan shrugged. "Shouldn't we be more concerned with what each candidate can do than with the 'It' factor of his or her supporters?"

"Absolutely," Josh answered.

"But people like to see a cooler, prettier version of themselves on TV," Donna continued. "If they see that, they're more likely to watch the candidate speak for a moment or two before they flip to the Simpsons rerun."

"And there's a difference," Sam pointed out, "between taking actual supporters of the Governor who happen to be attractive and putting them in the front of the audience and this kind of rank..." He gestured at the TV, which was now showing footage of zebra, for reasons no one quite understood. Sam shrugged.

"That's a stacked deck," Toby commented. "Tucker Nolan is a party operative, the up-and-coming golden boy from California. To put him and his wife in that clip and pass them off as Ken and Hyacinth's typical Midwestern neighbor is dishonest. And that is the story that MSNBC should be telling. But it's not."

"And it won't be," CJ said slowly. "Unless someone points it out to them."

Evan shook his head. "No. CJ, you can't."

"Evan's right," Donna nodded. "You can't use your position at the Feminist Majority for political ends."

CJ gave her a look. "The Feminist Majority is a political organization, Donna."

"You know what I mean," Donna answered. "Even the appearance--"

Grinning, Sam interrupted. "Uh, guys?"

Toby glanced over at his colleague and almost smiled. "Go," he ordered.

Sam slid past Donna and moved to the back of the bus. Jesse looked slightly confused. "Who's he calling?"

Evan reached over the back of the seat and took his wife's hand. "CJ's other bosses."

* * *

At first, CJ suspected that the cab driver had gotten the address wrong. This hole in the wall in what was obviously A Bad Part of Town couldn't be the restaurant with the fabulous on-site brewery and bakery that Jesse had raved about. Thinking she might be taking her life in her hands, CJ opened the door and was relieved to find herself in what her brother liked to call a "fern bar." Lots of plants, art deco posters, brick walls, low-key lighting -- clearly the hangout for the local business lunch crowd.

The food must live up to its reputation, she thought with annoyance as she made her way to a booth near the back, since the guys had started eating without her.

"You couldn't wait until I got back from my meeting with Dennis Cybrynski?" she asked as she slid into the booth next to Evan.

"We've been here for forty minutes, the waiter was giving us funny looks, and all we ordered was an appetizer," Evan replied.

"And bread," CJ pointed out testily.

"They bring that automatically," Evan explained. "We didn't order that."

"Although we have been through two loaves already," Sam pointed out.

"We have also had beer," Toby added, as he motioned to a passing waiter and ordered another pitcher.

"In fact," Evan said, pushing a plate of nachos in CJ's direction, "I've decided we should move to Detroit to be near this brewery."

"So what did Cybrynski want this time?" Sam asked.

"Oh, this one's a winner," CJ began. Her daily battles with Cybrynski, her counterpart on the Haskell campaign, were a source of constant amusement to her co-workers. She wished she could find the humor in the meetings herself; all she was getting out of them was an ulcer. "It's about--" She paused, momentarily distracted by the loaf of bread Sam and Jesse were sharing. "Can we get another one of those? It looks excellent."

"It really is," Sam agreed between bites. "Jesse's been here before--"

"Academic conference six or seven years ago," Jesse explained. "I was worried that the place wouldn't still be here, but they tell me it's sort of a local tradition."

"Could we please get to the point?" Toby asked. "If we have to make any more concessions to Haskell's staff, I'd appreciate knowing about them as soon as possible."

CJ grinned, hoping that Jesse realized he now had official insider status if Toby no longer felt the need to be on his best behavior when Sam's partner came to visit.

"I'm getting to it," she said. She savored the nacho-and-melted-cheese concoction Evan had handed her. "These are fabulous."

"They are," Evan agreed. "I had my doubts. The menu refers to them as 'nachos yuppino.' I mean, even ignoring how dated the term yuppie is--"

"I know." Jesse nodded. He seemed, CJ thought, almost apologetic. As though by having suggested they eat here, he was somehow responsible for the restaurant's performance. He seemed so determined not to disappoint Sam's friends; CJ found that trait particularly endearing.

"For the love of god," Toby muttered, rubbing one hand over his forehead, "CJ, ignore the menu and get back to Haskell's demands."

"Fine, Grumpy." She took a moment to savor one last bite of the heavenly nachos before answering. "They're asking us to -- wait. Where are Josh and Donna? They need to hear this."

"They went shopping," Sam replied, his laughter barely contained.

"I must be losing my hearing," CJ said as the waiter arrived with more bread and beer. "I could swear you just said that Josh Lyman went shopping."

"After you left this morning," Jesse explained, dividing the bread into even slices, "they had a conversation concerning engagement rings."

"Actually," Sam clarified, "the conversation was about a Haskell staffer making a pass at Donna last night. Josh thought this incident might have been avoided if Donna had been wearing a ring."

"Or a big flashing neon sign around her neck -- 'Property of Josh Lyman,'" Evan added as he reached across the table for more beer. "I'm quoting Donna there."

"Finally," Sam said, "they compromised. She agreed to wear -- how did she put it?"

Jesse grinned. "A nondescript, understated ring that will in no way cause undue talk among the wrong people--"

"A tortuously long way of saying 'the press,'" Toby noted.

"If," Sam continued, as he passed the bread to CJ, "Josh would give up his archaic desire to have her change her name to Lyman after the wedding."

"Is there any chance we will be discussing the campaign today?" Toby asked. He motioned toward the grandfather clock in the corner. "Because we seem to be wasting time here."

CJ leaned back against the booth so she could better study her companions' reactions. "Dennis insists that we stop playing our own campaign song," she announced.

"Give up Phil Ochs?" Sam asked. He looked stricken. "But it's our signature."

"Have they even listened to the song?" Toby asked. "Do they not understand how powerful those lyrics are?"

"That's what I said," CJ agreed. "Apparently, they don't care. According to Dennis -- and this is a direct quote, 'Any presidential campaign needs to present one unified vision.'" She waited for Toby to recover from the phrase "one unified vision" before she continued her impression of Dennis Cybrynski's nasal tones. "'Therefore, the Governor should give up her little hippie tune in favor of the Senator's mainstream choice of _Born in the USA_."

Toby stroked his beard. "Has anyone at the Haskell camp ever listened to the lyrics of their own song?"

Shrugging, CJ answered, "It's a little too late to worry about that now, don't you think?"

"That song," Toby stated, distaste twisting his lips, "is about the depression of the working class. They really want to foreground that in the midst of a presidential campaign?"

"People hear the chorus, they think it's patriotic. What do you want from me?" CJ frowned at her roll. "Can someone hand me the butter?"

"Please," Sam pleaded as he passed the small butter plate, "tell me we're not caving on this."

"Of course we're not caving," Toby answered. "That music's been working for us. Radio stations have been getting requests for it. VH-1 did that Phil Ochs retrospective last week and mentioned us."

"Toby," CJ said, "we can't afford to antagonize the Haskell camp over a song; you know that."

"But--"

"I did the best I could do for now," CJ said as she reached for another slice of bread. "I told them we'll keep using _The Power and the Glory_ until the convention, and we'll revisit the issue after that. I'm not sure they don't have a point about the unified image though."

* * *

"I think we made a good choice," Donna said, studying the jeweler's box in her hand. For his part, Josh sat unamused and silent, hoping to convey his displeasure through the amount of distance he'd placed between them in the cab's backseat. If he held onto the handle any tighter, he thought, he'd break the damn thing off.

She was always talking about how she could read his mood based on his body language. You'd think she'd be getting a pretty clear message today. But, no, all she could do was chatter on and on about the wonders of the damn engagement ring.

"It's classic," Donna continued. "Not flashy or gaudy. I hate those kinds of rings. This one's simple and elegant. We don't have to worry about it ever going out of style, you know?"

He grunted. This was what the damn ring had reduced him to -- he couldn't even frame an actual reply.

"Silver was a good choice, I think," Donna added. "Gold engagement rings -- there's a cliché for you. Silver is unique. Not unlike us."

Of course! he thought. He had her on that one. He should have thought of this back at the jewelers, but he'd been overcome by the sheer hideousness of that ring.

"Won't it clash?" he asked innocently. "With the wedding ring? Wedding rings are gold."

"First of all, no, it won't clash. Plenty of people wear both silver and gold."

"Name two."

"And anyway," she went on, ignoring him in that typically Donnatella way of hers, "where is it written that wedding rings have to be gold? We could have silver wedding bands if we wanted."

He might have groaned again; he wasn't completely sure.

"For that matter," Donna said, with the gleam in her eye that meant she was warming to her subject, "we don't need wedding bands at all."

"Oh, yes, we do," Josh insisted. Even he could tell that he sounded belligerent -- although he feared Donna would label him "petulant." However, he'd be damned if he'd let Donnatella Soon-to-be-Lyman out in public without proof that she was his.

He made a mental note never, ever to say that out loud. Especially not in front of Donna. Or CJ.

"We don't," Donna insisted. "Frankly, it's an archaic tradition, which exists primarily to keep the diamond industry -- and let's discuss the politics of that institution sometime -- in business. What is a wedding ring if not a proof-of-purchase statement?"

"A what?" he asked. Once again, he thought, Air Donna flies us from Point A to Point C without arranging a layover at Point B.

"Proof of purchase," she insisted. "A way of saying, 'I bought and paid for the rights to this woman's reproductive system. All other men keep away.'"

"That's not what it is," Josh insisted. "It's a token of--" Suddenly, he was much too aware of the cab driver's presence. "--affection," he finished. It seemed like the most neutral word he could use and still get his meaning across. "It's a token of affection."

"Is it?" Donna asked. Her eyes were all wide and lit up, and she was smiling with girlish emotion. Josh found himself wishing that they'd rented a car. Privacy would have been nice right about now.

"Yes," he said softly. "It's a way of saying that in public without saying that in public."

"I could perhaps live with the concept of wedding rings under those circumstances."

"Good."

"As long as it's a mutual statement."

"Yeah, well, the idea of you saying that to me doesn't totally suck," he admitted.

"I'm glad you agree." She handed him the jewelry box. "So put on your damn engagement ring, Joshua."

* * *

"I understand what you're saying," Sam repeated, growing more frustrated with each iteration, "but we didn't sign on to be ignored."

Jason Bezdek grimaced a little, shifting in his seat. Sam wasn't really sure what was wrong with Bezdek's back -- the Beltway rumors were myriad and absurd -- and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask. National politics was a 24/7 kind of job; anyone who could ignore chronic, debilitating pain while simultaneously putting a man in the Senate, running his press office, and then helping to craft a successful bid for the Democratic nomination was... Well, to be quite honest, Sam found Bezdek's grim determination rather frightening.

Which was why he endeavored to mask his irritation. But from the slightly sour look on Bezdek's face, Sam suspected his efforts weren't altogether successful.

"Sam, I appreciate that y'all were trying to run a different kind of campaign, but at the end of the day, it didn't work. And--"

"It did work," Sam snapped. "People are sick to death of political rhetoric. They don't want candidates to stay on message; they want to hear honest answers to legitimate and important questions."

"Sam--"

"Governor Douglas-Radford's consistent honesty is the only reason that a leftist, female, former-pot-smoker from Pennsylvania finished a strong second in the majority of Democratic primaries and," Sam continued, talking over Bezdek's objections, "that is exactly the reason that your boss chose her to be the Vice President." Sam stopped, still a little in awe of that concept.

Bezdek reverted to his typically impassive look. "We brought her onto the ticket so she'd bring the left flank of the Democratic party, female and liberal undecideds, and some moderate, pro-choice Republican women with her."

"Jason--"

"No, Sam," Bezdek interrupted, looking mildly annoyed. Sam considered that a personal victory, considering Bezdek's reaction to almost anything was an unreadable expression. "Let's be honest about this. The Governor has many items in the pro column, but it ain't like the con column's empty. Y'all mishandled the Gang of Four stories--"

"We did not," Sam protested. "Any attempt to kill those and we'd have had ten times more stories about the four of us overnight. We shifted the focus back to the Governor."

Bezdek nodded. "By not answering the question."

"What question?" Sam demanded, frustrated.

Shifting again, Bezdek re-adjusted the pillow at the small of his back. "The right-wing press is still digging around, Sam. They're going to find something; they probably already have."

Sam was suddenly cold, his fingers without feeling. What the hell was Bezdek getting at? "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. There are still insinuations swirling around about the four of you -- that y'all are a dishonest bunch who orchestrated the Healthgate mess, that you're using this campaign as a class reunion and as revenge for what happened in 2002."

Sam forced a grin. "If that witch hunt of a Congressional investigation couldn't find any evidence of wrongdoing on our part, what makes you think the right-wing press will be able to? As for the other two things, they're just icing on the cake."

"Sam--"

"No, Jason, I'm serious. We're supposed to be talking about the mini-debates--"

"We're not doing them," Bezdek declared flatly, flipping his planner closed with a decisive snap.

Sam blinked. "The Governor is very excited about this; and if Senator Haskell doesn't do them too, someone's going to ask why."

"Exactly," Bezdek answered.

Sam relaxed a bit. "Good. So we need--"

"No, that's exactly why the Governor's not going to do them, either."

Floored, it took Sam a moment to respond. "What?"

"Baker's lead is negligible; it's inside the margin--"

"The election's four months away," Sam pointed out, his tone incredulous.

"Which is exactly why we don't want to do anything to upset the balance."

Sam looked down at his hands, taking time to corral his thoughts before he told Bezdek exactly how stupid that line of thinking was. "You want the Senator and the Governor to hide in a bunker, Jason?"

Well, that was a bit sarcastic; perhaps he should've taken a few more minutes.

Bezdek's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. "That's not what I'm saying." He made a frustrated noise and pushed himself upright, one hand pressed against his lower back.

Sam rose too, watching uncertainly as Bezdek paced. "Jason, if you want to finish this later--"

"I'm fine." Bezdek waved off Sam's concern. "We're two points back. That's negligible. It's inside the plus or minus. On top of which, Baker's not very good on his feet. We'll do the debates in October in the traditional format."

"That's a mistake," Sam commented. If Bezdek insisted he was fine, then Sam wasn't going to pull any punches. "Baker's the incumbent. What if something happens, like an earthquake in California? What if the Mississippi floods?"

"In September?" Bezdek remarked.

Sam shrugged. "Well, what if there's an international incident and the U.S. gets involved? Baker's suddenly got ten, fifteen points on us; and we're the ones begging for the debates, desperate for him to trip over his tongue." He shook his head. "I don't understand your reluctance. The Senator's a much stronger speaker than Baker; we should put them in a room together now. Let's put Governor Douglas-Radford up against Shallick--"

"Sam--"

"The networks are crazy about the idea. I've got polling data indicating that thirty percent of people who admit they don't watch the full debates would watch the candidates for five minutes between the local weather and the sports update. Unrehearsed mini-debates -- voters will watch because they think something might happen. Something unscripted. Something genuine."

Bezdek held Sam's gaze with a measured look. "Exactly."

"Jason--"

"They're digging, Sam. There are certain truths that could be embarrassing to the Senator if they were to be sprung on him in front of cameras--"

"I'm gay," Sam interrupted angrily. "If that's what you're referring to. Should I write your boss a memo so he's not caught unprepared?"

Bezdek stopped short. "Sam--"

"Josh Lyman and Donna Moss are in love; should they call a press conference to get out in front of that horrible story? CJ's husband was friends with someone in college who joined the Black Panthers after graduation; maybe we should put Evan on _Nightline_ to discuss his imaginary affiliation with a fringe organization."

"My point," Bezdek answered stonily, "is that each five-minute debate is an opportunity for a blunder."

"And who's more likely to make it, the Senator or Baker? The Governor or Shallick?"

"I see your point, Sam, but--"

"This is bullshit." Sam headed for the door. "Besides, this isn't my decision to make, and it isn't yours." Sam turned back, one hand on the doorknob. "Senator Douglas-Radford didn't check her ethical stance at the door when she joined the ticket. But more importantly, you'll lose the voters she brought with her if you try to muzzle her."

Bezdek gave Sam an unreadable look. "Where are you going?"

"To talk to the Governor."

* * *

Senator Mark Haskell was not a stupid man.

He knew full well that Governor Susan Douglas-Radford and her staff considered him to be one of those New Democrats -- Republicans in flannel, as he'd once heard them described. Conventional wisdom held that New Democrats embraced some planks of the Republican Party platform, pulling to the middle to carry a broader spectrum of voters. The thinking was that moderate and conservative Democrats would be more likely to support a New Democrat, while the liberal wing of the Party would think, 'Hell, any kind of Democrat's better than a Republican' and support the candidate anyway.

It surprised Haskell a little, to be honest. This thinking -- that his political leanings could be so cold and calculated -- it really irked Haskell. To be more precise, this suspicion of his motives bothered him. He was, in fact, more liberal than many of his Democratic counterparts, yet Douglas-Radford's position to his left gave her staffers this air of... not quite disdain for him, but something close. And he'd be damned if he'd spend the remainder of the campaign being made to feel vaguely guilty for his stance on issues.

He was a politician, sure, and he cast his viewpoints in the most favorable light, depending on the mood of the country; but he had never voted against his conscience. Not once, in twelve years as a Senator.

All of which was beside the point. He'd won the nomination. He'd beaten Douglas-Radford, and his staff had suggested a dozen other candidates for the vice-presidential slot on the ticket. But Haskell had asked Susan Douglas-Radford to join the ticket not because he needed her, but because he wanted her voice. He admired her honesty and her adherence to principle, two things he hoped characterized him too.

He honestly thought their combination could do great things for the country.

Now he just had to convince her staffers of that. Because Jason Bezdek had called to interrupt a pretty important meeting with potential donors to report that one of Douglas-Radford's people had his panties in a bunch. A nd that Bezdek thought this conflict would be the make or break for the Haskell/Douglas-Radford alliance.

The Democratic Party couldn't afford a nasty split and neither, to be honest, could Haskell's own presidential bid.

He'd directed Bezdek to send Douglas-Radford in to join the informal cocktail party in his hotel suite, and she arrived not twenty minutes later. Although she exhibited her usual grace and poise, the raised eyebrow she gave him when no one else was looking promised a serious discussion later.

Not being a fan of delaying tactics, Bezdek invented a plausible excuse, turned the potential donors over to his wife, and ushered Susan Douglas-Radford into the hallway. "Susan," he greeted her. "Jason Bezdek seems to think that your staff is urging you to issue an ultimatum."

Douglas-Radford gave nothing away as she stared back at him. "That's not precisely how I'd frame the issue," she said. "My staff has brought to my attention the fact that your staff has decided that my job is to speak to every women's group in the country, while you and your manly men do the rest."

Haskell laughed, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Surely you're not implying that women's groups aren't important."

"Oh, Mark, give it a rest," Douglas-Radford demanded, eyes narrowing slightly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. This isn't just about the women's groups or the mini-debates, but a larger--"

Haskell held up a hand. "I'm sorry. Mini-debates? What are you talking about?"

Douglas-Radford briefly recounted Sam's idea and Jason Bezdek's response to it.

"That's quite an interesting proposal," Haskell mused, imagining what a mess Baker would make of a two-minute impromptu answer. "His handlers don't usually let him out without flashcards and a map to the central message of the day."

"Exactly," she agreed, nodding. "And Shallick has a tendency to let his mouth and his temper get the best of him. I can't imagine either man would be particularly impressive under the circumstances Sam's proposing."

"Hmmm," Haskell said. "Let me think about this. Something like this would certainly support our claim that we're an innovative alternative to an administration mired in the not-so-golden age of modern politics."

Douglas-Radford studied him for a moment. "This is exactly why I'm here, Mark. Sam's idea is a damn good one, and it deserves serious consideration. I agreed to join this ticket because I think you'll be a good president, not because I wanted to substitute your staff's judgment for my own."

"No one is suggesting that you should," Haskell argued, frustrated. "If you don't want to speak to women's groups, don't. If you want to do Sam's debate idea, do."

"It's not that simple," Douglas-Radford argued. "We need to present a united front." She flashed him an annoyed look. "And by the way, I have no problem speaking to women's groups. I have a problem when I'm pigeonholed into only speaking to them."

"Fine," Haskell said. "I'll talk to Jason about your schedule. And I'll consider the other. Is that all?" he asked, impatient to get back inside.

"No, that's not all," she said, arms crossed. "We need to figure out our relative positions here, Mark. You're going to be the president. I'm going to be the vice president. Those roles are easy to comprehend. It's the campaigning that's confusing. Does your staff have the right to unilaterally dismiss campaign initiatives that my staff suggests?"

"Not unilaterally, no," Haskell allowed. "But my staff and I ultimately have the final say in which initiatives we pursue and which we do not."

Douglas-Radford's mouth tightened. "I would like your word," she said quietly, "that I or any of my senior staffers will not have to hack our way through a thicket of your staffers to get an initiative to you."

"You want unfettered access to me, you have it," Haskell promised. "If you think we have a problem with the message, come talk to me and we'll straighten it out. If you have a workable idea, bring it to me and we'll set it in motion. The campaign's being run by many people, but we will ultimately be responsible for every word said on our behalf. But as for your staffers--"

"Toni Timian and Josh Lyman," she interrupted.

Haskell stayed silent, studying her. Her request wasn't unreasonable, especially considering how much of her time was taken up in public appearances. Was it fair to require the Governor to be both the vice presidential candidate and intra-campaign mediator? But Haskell also needed to know how committed she was. He had to know for sure that the issue would be settled. "Is this a deal breaker?" he challenged finally.

Smiling slowly, she shook her head. "There is no deal breaker, Mark," she answered. "I already accepted the position as your running mate and vice president."

He ducked his chin in acknowledgment, trying not to show the relief he felt at her admission. Her staffers might not know it yet, but he had no doubt that Susan Douglas-Radford would make them understand their position on the campaign. And she would explain that position was permanent; grandstanding was no longer an option. "I keep my word too, Susan. You are my running mate. I may disagree with your ideas, I may reject some of them, but we're in this thing until November."

She accepted his words with a smile and a brief nod. "Longer than that, I hope."

He grinned at her. "Longer than that, yes." Sobering, he considered her request. "Toni and Josh," he answered finally. "I'll leave standing orders that they can come directly to me with important issues."

Douglas-Radford touched his arm. "Thank you, Mark. I appreciate it."

"I'm glad we had this conversation," he told her, tilting his head back toward the suite. "We should probably get back to work."

"Yes, we should."

* * *

"Okay, listen up."

Susan Douglas-Radford watched with amusement as Josh, Donna, CJ, and Sam wheeled around to face her, matching surprised expressions in place. The Governor had effectively snuck into the suite, though not intentionally.

The four staffers poring over dossiers at the small desk in the corner couldn't possibly have heard the tumblers tumbling, the door squealing its way open or slamming its way shut over the familiar sound of a shouting match between Toby and Toni. Toby and Toni hadn't noticed the Governor's approach either, engrossed as they were arguing heatedly over some arcane point of Pennsylvania state law that allowed... Actually, Douglas-Radford wasn't at all sure what they were arguing about; and she'd adopted her own version of don't ask, don't tell when dealing with Toby and Toni in contentious moods.

The Governor watched, amused, as they stared at each other, neither willing to look away first.

"Governor," Sam said, stepping forward. "I thought you joined the Senator's fundraiser tonight?"

"I stopped by," she nodded.

CJ moved between Toby and Toni, breaking the stand off. "Did you want to have the planning meeting then?"

The Governor frowned. "Planning meeting?"

"For the convention," Toni answered, turning her attention to her boss. "We were supposed to finalize the choice for your introduction tonight, but I rescheduled when Sam told us you'd gone to the fundraiser."

Douglas-Radford raised an eyebrow. "I was summoned to the fundraiser." Her gaze slid over to Sam, who looked pale and concerned. "Senator Haskell and I settled some outstanding issues tonight."

Josh's hands gravitated to his hips the way they always did when he felt threatened. "What outstanding issues?" he demanded.

Behind him, Donna frowned and Sam looked disappointed. CJ crossed her arms and leaned one hip against the back of the couch. "We're using Born in the USA now, aren't we?"

Surprised, Douglas-Radford laughed outright. "No. No, we're not using Bruce quite yet. At least, that wasn't the subject of my discussion with the Senator, so I assume nothing's changed on that front."

"Thank God," Donna murmured.

"If I may ask," Toby said quietly, "what was the subject of your discussion?"

"Access."

"To the Senator?"

The Governor nodded. "We agreed that I did not join the campaign to be dictated to and that I need to have access to the Senator if we are to run an effective campaign."

"You," Josh repeated darkly. The Governor sighed; she should've known that Josh would jump to conclusions. He gestured at his colleagues. "So the rest of us are out? Governor, we can't possibly be expected to--"

"You're not."

Shaking her head slightly, Donna asked, "What do you mean?"

"Toni and Josh, as my chief of staff and my campaign director respectively, have unfettered access to the Senator, 24/7. The rest of you will have to bring your concerns to Josh, Toni, or myself." She looked at each of them in turn, taking in the wary expressions. "Capice?"

Toby grimaced. "Governor, please not the Italian."

"Comprendez-vous?" she tried, smiling.

Donna grinned. "Oui, Madame."

Josh and Toni exchanged glances, and then both nodded. "That sounds reasonable," Josh allowed.

Toni gave Toby a saucy look. "I told you that you were subservient to me in every way."

Toby blinked slowly but didn't answer, which set Toni off laughing.

The Governor gave Donna and CJ and expectant look. "Okay, media goddesses, which prominent liberal Democrat have you, in all your wisdom, decided should introduce me at the Convention?"

"Jesse Johnson, Jr.," Donna answered.

"Definitely," CJ affirmed.

* * *

Evan wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but circumstances had landed him in a cab with Toby Ziegler, headed for the airport. Donna had some sort of press emergency -- something about ballot access, or possibly ballot stuffing; he wasn't really sure -- and Josh had stayed behind with her. CJ'd offered to help with the calls they needed to make; and Sam was locked in his hotel suite, still working on the address that Governor Douglas-Radford was supposed to give that evening. Toni was staying for the speech. Which left Toby and Evan.

And of course, the Denver airport was quite a ways from the city, so they had a bit of time to kill.

Glancing at his silent companion, Evan tried to come up with a subject that would interest him. They'd pretty much exhausted the "teaching sucks, doesn't it?" conversation, and Toby wasn't one for small talk. Evan didn't figure he'd appreciate a conversational gambit about weather or sports, though CJ claimed Toby was an obsessive Yankees fan.

Evan preferred basketball.

Toby cleared his throat. "Don't ask me about the Yankees," he ordered, still staring out the window.

Startled, Evan laughed. "What makes you think I was going to?"

"That awkward silence," Toby answered, meeting his gaze briefly. "You're a talker."

"Maybe," Evan admitted. "But I'm not a Yankees fan."

"Heathen," Toby muttered good-naturedly.

Evan ignored the insult. "So you don't do chatter. How about you explain this convention thing to me?"

Evan had to swallow a laugh at the look of outright horror on Toby's face. "You don't know what a convention is?"

"I know what it is," Evan answered. "But you already know you won--"

"Haskell won," Toby interrupted flatly.

"You know what I mean. You know how the delegates are going to vote; your ticket won the nomination -- what's the point?"

"What's the point?" Toby echoed loudly.

"Yes," Evan pressed, mentally brushing off his journalism skills. (He'd reviewed books for his college newspaper. Sure, that'd been more than twenty years ago and he'd never once conducted an interview, but he figured experience was experience.) "Is it all just about the pageantry, about free network air time for a big Democratic commercial?"

"Public service announcement," Toby shot back. "We give the electorate fair warning about what the Republican Party has in store for them."

Evan laughed. "Please. The acceptance speech is all about Haskell as the second coming of JFK, not--"

"It's the language," Toby countered. "You have to study the language we use. We do talk about Republican policies, but we can't go negative at the Convention." Toby paused, his expression thoughtful. "We, especially, can't go negative. Because of our sordid past," he added ironically.

"So you allude and imply." Evan dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "That doesn't mean anything to the average viewer. Hell, I'm a writer, Toby, and I can't see half of the stuff you're talking about in the speech I read. It's buried in political speak and an alarming amount of clichés."

"The speech isn't done yet," Toby pointed out, somewhat defensively.

Evan held up his hands. "I'm not saying that it's bad writing, Toby. You and Sam are quite talented. I'm saying that if the convention is really supposed to tell the American people what you stand for, what you are, that speech isn't going to get it done." He shrugged, a little dismayed at the turn the conversation had taken. Who was he to tell Toby Ziegler how to write political rhetoric? Evan's inexperience didn't seem to be stopping him from doing it, though. "I know Haskell's people have been a little difficult--"

"A lot difficult," Toby corrected, rubbing his beard.

"Fine. A lot difficult. But phrases like 'no child left behind' and 'a culture of personal responsibility' -- they don't mean anything. You think the average citizen knows that 'personal responsibility' is code for kicking people off welfare, regardless of whether there are jobs out there?"

Toby watched him silently for a moment, a small smile in place. "I thought you hated politics."

Evan grinned. "I do."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"What can I say? I've been married to CJ Cregg for two years. I picked some of it up."

Toby shifted in his seat, looking out the window again. "Yeah."

Evan hesitated, undecided. Then he sighed and said, "Toby, I'm not an expert. I don't know what all those books of polling data say about which phrases work for what segment of society. But Susan Douglas-Radford struck a chord because she was honest."

Toby absorbed that, and then glanced back at Evan. "Donna, she said something the other day that struck Josh as funny. But I think she's right. She said that the national conventions are the American version of a royal wedding." The corners of his mouth curled upwards. "Two people promising to stick together for political gain."

Evan chuckled. "Fair enough."

"The convention is about unity," Toby said. "It's about reconnecting with the rest of the party after a fractious primary season. And you're right; it's a little bit about the pageantry. But mostly it's about," he shrugged, "the celebration of a political marriage."

Evan considered Toby's words, then nodded solemnly. "Okay. Then I would suggest you give the newlyweds one hell of a toast."

Toby smiled, just a little, and turned his gaze back to the window. A few minutes passed in easy silence, Evan's attention wandering to the relative wilderness outside. Just how far away was the Denver airport, anyway? Considering the flat farmlands they were passing through, Evan wouldn't be surprised to learn that their driver had taken a wrong turn at a cornfield somewhere.

So distracted was Evan by his musings that it took him a minute to understand what Toby was talking about when he muttered, "I might just do that."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**August 2006**

Although Donna had never set foot in the New Orleans Marriott before, she could have found her way through its lobby blindfolded. During her tenure as Josh's assistant, she had become familiar with the preferred layouts of every major hotel chain in the country. Hilton, Sheraton, Radisson, whatever -- Donna knew whether the registration desk was likely to be to the left or the right as you entered, how many restaurants there would be, and the fastest way to the elevators, even factoring in the number of lobbyists and hangers-on who stopped Josh along the way.

It was nice to know, Donna reflected as she pushed the button for their floor, that her instincts hadn't withered away from disuse over the years.

She glanced at Josh, who was studying the various business cards in his hand with amazement.

"Anything interesting?" she asked.

Josh continued to stare at the cards in silence.

"People kept stopping me and giving me these things," he finally said.

"Hardly a new phenomenon."

"Yes, but--" It was then that Donna realized that Josh was intentionally avoiding making eye contact. "This didn't happen four years ago."

"None of that was your fault," she pointed out.

"It was," he argued as they stepped out of the elevator. "Some of it was. If I'd argued more forcefully in favor of the censure, maybe President Bartlet would have accepted the offer. Maybe we wouldn't have lost the nomination."

"I hate to wound your ego--"

"No," he said, grinning slightly as he put an arm around her. "You love wounding my ego."

"Okay, yes, I do. But my point is that the President decided to fight Congress because he felt that was the right thing to do, not because you told him to. All you did was deliver the news that the offer was on the table."

"While making it clear that I didn't like the offer. But not explaining that I didn't like the offer for purely personal reasons."

"Because you don't like losing?" she asked as she took the key card from him and opened the door.

"That was part of it."

So here we are, Donna thought. Another convention, another hotel, and we're stuck talking about things we should have discussed four years ago. She set her briefcase on the floor, sat down on the bed, and waited for her nerves to calm down. "What was the other part?" she finally asked.

Josh stood by the window, his eyes trained on the New Orleans skyline. "I didn't much care for the way the message was delivered," he said.

"Josh, I was never in love with--"

"I know that," he said, finally turning to look at her.

"In fact, I spent four years doing everything short of walking around with a flashing neon sign over my head reading, 'I am in love with my boss.'"

"Now, see," he said, smiling as he joined her on the bed, "I'm pretty sure that would have worked. I would have noticed that."

"I doubt it. You were too busy with the likes of Amy Gardner," she said as she put an arm around him.

"I cannot be held responsible for that. I was on the rebound."

"Overstating. You broke up with Mandy almost three years before--"

"From you," he said as he pulled her closer. "On the rebound from you."

"That would imply that we had actually--"

"You weren't the only one in need of a neon sign, you know. The Cliff thing was quite a kick in the teeth."

She started to lie down, pulling Josh on top of her, keeping their bodies as close together as she could manage.

"The only reason I slept with Cliff--"

"You know, on second thought, let's not talk about--"

He let go of her and started to get off the bed. Donna reached up and pulled him back down. "No," she said, "I think we need to talk about this. Otherwise, it's going to be there festering just below the surface, and that's not good. I slept with Cliff--" She paused, thinking it over. "It's hard to explain. We were in the middle of the investigation, and I felt overwhelmed by everything, and I needed something that wasn't part of all that."

"It didn't occur to you that a lawyer from Oversight--"

"Honestly, Josh, I wasn't thinking about any of that. I was just thinking that he was funny and cute and, well, he sort of reminded me of you, if you must know."

Judging from the look on Josh's face, that comparison horrified him. "Donna, come on! The guy was a Republican. That's pretty much the opposite of me."

"Yes, but he was passionate about his beliefs, even if they were pretty misguided."

"My beliefs are not misguided."

"No, they are not. But you're passionate about them, which is one of the things I've loved about you from the beginning. And he was the right physical type, which didn't hurt."

"I am not short." She was relieved to see that Josh was beginning to smile.

"Other than that," she conceded with an answering smile. "I don't know, Josh. I told myself at the time that I was asserting my independence, getting over this unrequited thing--"

"It wasn't unrequited," he said, pressing a kiss against her shoulder.

"Well, I didn't know that then, did I?" She reached up and ran her hand along his cheek. "And later... later I thought you were just pissed off about the diary."

"I thought I'd blown it," Josh said, as his hand ran along the outside of her thigh. "I'd been telling myself that I'd have plenty of time. I never let myself think that you might want somebody else."

"Which in fact I didn't," Donna said as she loosened Josh's tie. "But you were so angry at me, and then you took up with Amy."

"I was more angry at myself than at you. And Amy -- that was mostly about me trying to convince myself that I was not suffering from any unbosslike feelings for you," Josh said as he unbuttoned her blouse.

"So basically what we have learned here is that we were a couple of idiots," she pointed out as she unfastened his belt.

"Basically," he agreed as he unhooked her bra. "Although recent evidence would suggest that we're getting smarter."

"And to repeat my original point, the President wouldn't have -- What's that?"

He really did look too adorable, all mussed up and smirking down at her. "I think you'd recognize that, considering how often we've done this in the last few months," he said.

"No, you big dork." She let go of him and propped herself up against the pillows. "That," she repeated, pointing to the flowers sitting on the table.

She watched with amusement as Josh tried to stand -- a feat that was difficult to accomplish with his pants down around his knees. He sat still for a moment, apparently deciding whether to get dressed or just remove the pants once and for all. Grinning at her, he took off the pants and walked over to the table. He took the card out of the floral arrangement and read it to her. "'Dear Josh, Welcome back. All is forgiven. Love, the DNC."

"Why am I sure that is not what it says?" Donna asked.

"Well, not literally, but I'm pretty good at reading between the lines."

"No, you're not."

"Maybe not," he conceded, "but I'm working on it."

* * *

CJ stopped just inside the door, frowning as she heard the familiar bombast coming from the TV. She moved into the room, tossing her leather folio onto the bureau next to the room service menu, and stared down at Evan. Why the hell was her apolitical husband sprawled on the bed watching C-SPAN? "Evan?"

He couldn't seem to tear his gaze from the TV. Instead, he lifted one hand in a little wave, nearly knocking his abandoned laptop to the floor. Then he resumed his position, one foot dangling over the edge of the bed. "I don't get it."

"Get what?"

"This," Evan answered, gesturing toward the TV screen.

CJ glanced at the TV, raised an eyebrow, and said, "The House of Representatives? Yeah, me neither."

"CJ."

She slumped into the not-very-comfortable easy chair and watched the screensaver on his laptop whirl in lazy, hypnotic circles. God, she was tired. "I thought you were writing."

"I was." Evan shrugged -- or at least CJ thought he did, but it was kind of hard to tell with the way he was laying.

"But now you're watching C-SPAN," she observed, mesmerized by the pretty dancing lines. She thought her undue fascination probably meant she should get some sleep, but the idea of getting up, changing her clothes, washing her face, brushing her teeth -- it was too exhausting.

"Yes, which is your fault, by the way." He still wasn't looking at her, seemingly as entranced by the illogical arguments from the mouths of the people's representatives as she was by his screensaver.

Then his words penetrated and she blinked and fixed her gaze on her husband. "Wait -- What? My fault?"

"Yeah." Evan grinned at a very incensed gentleman from Ohio. "You left the TV on C-SPAN. I innocently turn it on, just trying to keep up with my lovely wife's career, and there they are, arguing about some sort of bird."

CJ stared at him. "A bird?"

"A crane, maybe?"

"Since when are you a birdwatcher?" CJ asked.

"I don't even know what a crane looks like," he admitted.

"Okay," CJ said, using her I'm-clearly-the-only-sane-person-in-the-room voice. "What I don't get is why you're still watching this."

He did that strange shrugging thing again. "I'm well-educated man, CJ."

The edge of her mouth quirked upwards. "I've seen your diplomas."

"But you know what I realized watching this?"

"That the House is full of a bunch of blowhards who adore the sound of their own illogical arguments?"

He shot her another grin. "That too. But my main issue is this -- I don't get it," he said, pointing at the Speaker of the House, who was urging members to remove their conversations to the cloakroom.

Of course, CJ thought, after the day she spent dealing with panicky first-time convention attendees, not to mention various and sundry last minute press details, Mr. I-Hate-Politics is suddenly fascinated by Congress. "It's parliamentary procedure."

"I get that," Evan answered, rolling his eyes

"Well, then what don't you understand?"

"This is a bill to protect Hourihan Wildlife Park, right?"

CJ blinked. "Is it?"

Evan managed to peel his attention from the tiresome debates on the scene to toss her a grin. "It is."

Despite her grumpy mood, she found herself smiling back at him. "Okay."

"So this other guy--"

"J.D. Newton," CJ supplied, sending a sneer toward the screen. He'd been particularly harsh on President Bartlet, and CJ had a memory like an elephant.

"Right," Evan nodded. "Him. He's suggesting they protect the adjacent land too."

"Bastard."

Evan pushed himself upright and twisted a little to face her. "See, I don't get why that's bad."

"Because he's trying to kill the bill."

"But we're trying to protect land in the first place, right?"

"Also the wildlife. And I must say I like how you included yourself in the House of Representatives just then."

That mock glare he was giving her was quite amusing, but he ignored her comment. "So we want to protect land."

She beamed at him. He was so damn cute when he was trying to be political. "Yes."

"Because protecting land is good."

She nodded. "Right."

"And there's someone offering an amendment that would actually protect more land, thereby doing more good?"

"Yes."

"But that's bad."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, I don't get this at all."

* * *

Over the course of several months, Donna had noticed a change in Josh's sleeping habits. During their first few weeks together, he hadn't seemed to sleep much at all. Donna would fall asleep in his arms every night, only to wake to the sight of Josh propped up on one elbow, staring down at her. Because she'd been determined not to fall back into her old pattern of constantly worrying about him, Donna hadn't questioned his behavior. Besides, when he looked at her with so much longing, she tended to become distracted.

They'd had a lot of early morning sex those first few weeks.

Still, Donna was pleased to notice that Josh had been sleeping better this last month. She'd assumed this meant that he was content. That the specters of Rosslyn and Healthgate and Seattle were finally behind them.

Which explained why she was especially upset to realize that he'd been having trouble sleeping ever since they'd arrived in New Orleans.

Being the creature of extremes that he was, Josh reacted to insomnia one of two ways: either he would pace around their room compulsively; or he would lay stock still, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

Today appeared to be a staring-at-the-ceiling morning.

Donna lifted her head, took another look at her fiancé, and smiled.

It was a staring-at-the-ceiling-while-naked morning.

She rolled onto her back and followed Josh's gaze upward.

"What we have here," she said after a moment, "appears to be a ceiling."

"Yes," Josh replied.

"It's well made."

"Yes."

"Bland, perhaps, but then how much do you actually expect from ceiling decor?"

"I've never really given it much thought," he commented.

"Yet you're staring at it."

"I'm concentrating. It helps me focus."

"Is this like that standing-against-the-wall thing?"

"No, I came up with this one all by myself."

"And how well has it worked?"

"The results have been mixed," he admitted.

Donna turned back onto her side and studied his face. He was, she decided, trying too hard to appear emotionless. His eyes were narrowed a fraction more than they should be, and his mouth was drawn into the tight line that usually meant he was beating himself up about something.

If she couldn't get Josh to talk about whatever was bothering him, she reasoned, she could at least kiss away that tight line.

The kiss was deep and passionate, and Josh clearly enjoyed himself. Yet when Donna stopped kissing him, he made no move to reciprocate. Instead, he went back to staring at the ceiling.

She turned back over and looked at the ceiling again.

"Clearly," she remarked, "the thrill has gone out of our relationship."

"Clearly," he answered, "that is not the case."

"Then why aren't we making love?"

"Because I'm trying to think this through."

"Ahhh," she said, as if she understood whatever the hell he was talking about.

"Yes."

"Exactly what is it that you're thinking through?"

"I'm not sure."

"Oh, well, that explains everything."

His gaze never left the ceiling. "That's sarcasm, isn't it?" he asked.

"Of course it is. Now exactly what is it you're obsessing about?"

"What could go wrong."

"Go wrong?" she repeated. "Go wrong with what?"

"With everything. With the nomination and the election. With the media and the spin they'll put on the race. With voter turnout and issue ads. With the debates and campaign contributions and endorsements and with the convention."

"Oh," she said, suddenly understanding what was bothering him.

"I have a lot on my mind."

"You have the Ghost of Conventions Past on your mind."

"I wouldn't--"

"You do," she insisted. "You're lying there remembering everything from eight years ago--"

"Eight years ago was good. At least, at the time I thought it was good."

"It was," she replied. "It was amazing. And you made it happen."

"And look how it all turned out."

"Okay, let's review: A decent man won the election. He was a good president. People's lives are better because he was in office."

"That's one way you could spin it, I suppose."

"As far as I'm concerned, that's the only spin. For the love of God, Josh, do you honestly think there was some way you could have known the President was ill in '98? Do you really believe you could have seen that?"

"I should have known something was wrong." He finally stopped staring at the ceiling and turned to look at Donna. "I should have known. Nobody can be as perfect as Jed Bartlet seemed. I should have questioned him more thoroughly before I signed on. If I'd found out, maybe I could have convinced him to go public before the election--"

"And lost him the nomination, not to mention the election."

"Not necessarily."

"Josh." She reacted out, running one hand softly through his hair. "Quit beating yourself up. Things happened the way they happened. There was nothing you could have done about it. Leo's known the President forever, and even he didn't realize anything was wrong. Let it go."

"This is my job, Donna. I get paid a lot of money to anticipate what can go wrong."

"And you do an excellent job." She placed a quick kiss on his lips and lay back down. "Stop blaming yourself for not discovering something no one could have anticipated."

"I suppose." He didn't sound convinced. But this, she'd discovered over the years, was the trick with Josh: First, you had to force him to listen to the stuff he didn't want to hear. Then you waited and watched during the weeks or months it took for him to mull over what you'd said and decide whether you had a point.

"What else?" she asked. "Because you've got that look as though this isn't the only thing you're brooding over."

"Seattle," he said, carefully not looking at her.

"What about Seattle? The politics or us?"

"Either. Both."

"Okay, then. Us. I told you then that I didn't regret it. I meant that. No, I had no way of knowing you'd leave the next day, but I knew at the time that we weren't necessarily entering into some long-term romance."

"At the time," he said, still looking everywhere but at her, "I thought it was pity sex."

This statement having proved once and for all that the man was an idiot, Donna punched him lightly on the arm.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was the one who needed comforting that night?" she asked. "That maybe I made love to you because things were so awful and I was miserable and I needed your strength?"

Judging by the baffled look on his face, Donna assumed that this was a totally new concept for him, so she continued. "Everybody had given up months before, Josh. Everyone but you. You were the only one of us left who still cared enough to fight. I just felt so horrible and so numb by that point. I needed you because you were the only person who still cared."

He looked dumbstruck by this revelation. "And then I left you," he said after a minute.

She was amazed by the fact that she could actually smile about something that had once hurt so much. "Yes, you did. And I meant everything I said then about what a bad idea working for Hoynes was. But still, in some convoluted way, I was proud of you. Because you still wouldn't give up. Even when all the experts said Hoynes didn't stand a chance of beating Baker, you weren't about to let the White House go without a fight." She rolled on top of him and took his head in her hands. "So stop remembering us making each other miserable. Because what I remember is that you held me when I needed it and you never once gave up."

Josh reached up, pulling Donna closer to him. This time, he more than reciprocated; in fact, it was difficult to tell which one of them initiated the kiss. The moment was so intense, in fact, that Donna's first impulse was to ignore the persistent ringing of the phone.

After the fifth ring, however, she realized that whoever was on the other end of the line wasn't giving up. She sighed, rolled back over to her side of the bed, and picked up the phone. Two minutes into the conversation, as she absently swatted Josh's hand off her hip, Donna decided that this bit of news was exactly what she needed to get Josh out of his pre-convention funk.

"So," she said, hanging up the phone and turning back around to face Josh, "that was the Ghost of Conventions Present."

"Meaning?"

"CJ called to start your day off with a nice, juicy political scandal." She kissed Josh's forehead and hopped out of bed, looking around for the bathrobe she'd discarded last night.

"You can't stay in bed and tell me about it?"

Ignoring the petulant quality in Josh's voice, Donna slipped on her robe, which had somehow ended up atop the dresser.

"It would appear that the Republicans have done something incredibly stupid," she continued as she sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"Well, that's hardly a new phenomenon." She could tell that Josh was trying to sound disinterested. It was the way he leaned forward in bed that gave away his curiosity.

"It seems there are a number of letters from prominent contributors to the Baker campaign making their way to newspapers in the contributors' hometowns," she explained.

"Oh, those." Josh shrugged and rested his back against the pillows. "Standard operating procedure. Local endorsement kind of thing. We do it too."

"Hand me my notepad," she ordered. "Because there's nothing standard about this."

Josh reached over and grabbed the pad. She had to snatch it out of his hands so she could keep him from reading the good parts before she could tell him herself. "This one comes from Antonio Morelli, CEO of Versent Industries, to the _Dallas Morning News_ : ' _Thanks to President Gregory W. Baker, we here in the Metroplex have experienced four years of unparalleled economic growth and prosperity. We must stay the course and return this great leader to office in November_.'"

"Inaccurate, but pretty standard," Josh said. "It might be fun to read it to Toby and watch his head explode over the bad writing, but other than that--"

"And this one comes from Mary Ellen Kowalski and was sent to _Fort Worth Star-Telegram_ : ' _Thanks to President Gregory W. Baker, we here in the Metroplex have experienced four years of unparalleled economic growth and prosperity. We must stay the course and return this great leader to office in November_.'"

"Form letter?" Josh grinned. "Okay, now this is getting interesting. I can work with this."

"Joseph K. Bluver sent the same letter to the _Dallas Observer_ , Cristopher Hernandez sent it to the _Greenville Herald Banner_ , and Blair Sullivan sent it to the _Plano Star Courier_."

"You're kidding? That many? Now we're really getting somewhere." Josh jumped out of bed and started dressing.

Donna swiveled around to watch him. "Oh, it gets better," she said. "None of those five people knew the letters existed until the newspapers started contacting them. The Baker staff apparently sent the letters out without the consent of the people who were supposedly endorsing their candidate." She took a moment to savor the stunned look on Josh's face, then turned a few pages in her notepad until she found the quote she wanted. "Here we go. Joseph Bluver is angry. He told the _Dallas Observer_ , 'If I'm going to be quoted in the press, I prefer to be quoted using my own words. I respect and admire President Baker, but I'm beginning to question the competence of the people who work for him.'"

Josh, clad by now in t-shirt and boxers, raised one fist into the air. "Yes! You know, the Baker staff won't have to bother sending us a wedding present. This will do just fine." Donna watched in amusement as he continued dressing and mapping out their strategy. "Okay, you need to--"

"Call every print reporter I know and find some way to casually ask if their paper has received a similar letter?"

"Exactly," Josh said as he buttoned his shirt. "Meanwhile, I'll go--"

"Find CJ and Toby and work on a statement for the Governor?"

"Right. Because we are shocked and appalled by this turn of events." With that, Josh disappeared into the bathroom.

"Josh?" Donna called out. "Are we? Shocked and appalled, I mean."

He reappeared in the doorway, toothbrush in hand. "We really are," he answered. "Sure, candidates ask for local endorsements all the time. They may even have their staffs help someone draft a letter of endorsement. But this is amazing. This doesn't happen. Is there any chance you can get someone on the Sunday morning shows to debate--"

"She won't do it, Josh."

"Who?" As usual, when Josh tried looking innocent, he failed miserably.

"I recognize that gleam in your eye," she told him. "You're having visions of going up against Ann Stark on _Meet the Press_. That's not going to happen. She's going to stay safely behind Leo's desk."

"Gee, if she's too embarrassed to face the public--"

"Tone that down a few notches before you talk to any reporters, please."

Josh, who had sat down to put on his shoes and socks, grinned at her. "Yes, ma'am."

"I mean it, Joshua. Not one word out of your mouth that hasn't been cleared through CJ and me."

He nodded as he stood up and headed for the door. "Hey, Donna?" he said as he opened the door.

"Yes?"

"I love conventions!"

* * *

CJ, Toby decided, was clearly gloating.

She was curled up in the corner chair, still in her hastily donned jeans and sweatshirt, her hair pulled messily back into a clip. If she were a cat, she would have been purring.

"CJ," Toby said in his best pained voice. "We really can't--"

"Well, good morning to you all," Josh boomed, practically strutting into the room. He was grinning as smugly as CJ. Toby hoped that meant that Josh had worked through his convention demons; it was annoying the way he'd withdrawn, becoming quieter and gloomier the closer they got to New Orleans.

CJ shushed Josh, gesturing to the closed bedroom door.

"It's not morning, it's 4:38 a.m.," Sam pointed out, appearing just behind Josh, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"That's morning," Josh shot back.

"I was only asleep for two hours," Sam grumbled, turning to Toby. "What's going on?"

"Ask her," Toby answered, gesturing at CJ, who straightened a little bit in her chair as she sketched out the situation to Sam, ignoring Josh's periodic interjections. Mostly, he made sarcastic remarks about Republicans.

Toby rolled his eyes. "Can we please talk about why it would be incredibly unwise of us to play any part in breaking this story?"

"What?" Josh spun around to face him. "Donna's on the phone right now--"

"Good," CJ decided.

"--talking to any reporter she can get hold of," Josh finished. "What's the problem?"

"The perception," Sam answered before Toby could. "The sight of us purporting to tell others about campaign scandals."

"Wait a second," CJ jumped in. "We're not telling anyone."

"Why not?" Josh asked, frowning. "We should be doing the Sunday morning--"

"No," Toby interrupted, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

"Toby--"

"No, do you know how that would look, Josh? We've already become the focus of this campaign once; you really want to try it again?"

"It wouldn't be like that," Josh argued.

"Yes, it would," Sam said quietly. "It would be like that, and it would be worse, because the stakes are higher now. We're it, Josh. We're on the ticket. If they can torpedo us, if they can get the Governor--"

"This isn't a health issue." Josh dismissed Sam's points with a sharp wave of his hand. "This isn't a candidate keeping something damaging from the public. This is a candidate actually committing fraud by falsely signing a whole bunch of letters of support and mailing them to news organizations. Which, by the way, is ingenious," he added with a smirk. "Mailing evidence of a fraud directly to the media. Interesting tactical move."

"Five letters," CJ corrected. "And Baker's spokesperson already issued a statement blaming an overzealous staffer in the Dallas office, honest mistake, yadda, yadda. And stop gloating."

"Another instance of pot and kettle," Toby muttered, leaning back in his chair and looking around in vain for a pot of coffee.

Ignoring his comment, CJ continued, "Josh, tell me how a campaign committing fraud is in any way not like the Healthgate scandal?"

"Well, first," Josh answered jovially, "I wouldn't call it 'the Healthgate scandal.'"

CJ merely rolled her eyes.

"And second, this is unlawful and it is reprehensible and--" Josh stopped, frowning. "This is sounding awfully familiar."

"Exactly," Sam said, dropping wearily into a nearby chair. He massaged his temples briefly. "Look, I think our best course of action is to stay as far away from this story as possible."

"We can't," CJ answered succinctly. She too started rubbing her forehead. "We need coffee." She rose and started rifling through the packets of instant coffee on the bureau.

Toby nodded, taking up where she left off. "No decent reporter -- Hell, no reporter, period, is going to run this story without calling one of us for comment. This is what it's going to be about for a few days." He glanced over at CJ. "How are Baker's numbers?"

"Gallup has him ahead of us by about three points; Pew says one. Both inside the margin, and we'll get a bump after tonight, and a bigger one tomorrow after Haskell speaks."

They sat in silence for a moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts of Healthgate, of Jed Bartlet, of the possibility that it was coming back to haunt them. Again.

"This could break in our favor," Sam ventured. Off their skeptical looks, he straightened in his chair. "No, really. Think about the juxtaposition of the balloons and the pageantry and the lofty, idealistic speeches of the Democratic National Convention with an angry press corps beating up the press secretary--" He tossed CJ an apologetic look. "--and a series of bland, blame-deflecting statements from official spokespersons. Who's going to look better come Monday morning?"

"This might soften his lead," Toby allowed. "But it's going to touch us too, Sam."

CJ nodded slowly. "They're going to go after Baker. But that'll be one, two days, tops. Then they're going to turn on us because, after all, the Republicans are already issuing talking points: 'It was an honest mistake.' 'One overzealous staffer.' And Tom Brokaw will repeat that to millions of people. Then he'll recount Healthgate -- as if we've really forgotten the details -- and compare the two, and who ends up looking worse?"

"This is willful," Josh argued, but his heart wasn't in it. "This is deliberate."

"Doesn't matter," Toby pointed out. "Jed Bartlet had a debilitating disease. This is a letter to the editor."

"Guys?" Donna appeared in the doorway, fighting a grin.

They turned sober expressions her way.

"Katie just called me back," Donna said.

"The _Globe_?" CJ asked, perking up.

"No, but she's got a friend at the _Herald_ ," Donna answered. "Two more, and these are in Boston."

"Different regional office," Josh grinned. "So this is a campaign-wide initiative."

"Maybe, maybe not," Sam mused. "But at least it's not just the one guy getting blamed for everything."

Toby flashed them all an irritated look. "Do none of you understand the concept of the United States postal service? The one guy could have mailed letters to any paper in the country. Are we sure it's not--"

"Postmarks," Donna nodded. "Katie's friend at the _Herald_ put an intern on it, and she eventually stumbled upon an unopened letter. Postmark was within the paper's region of circulation."

"So just to be clear, it looks like they did a mass mailing of forged letters?" Josh asked.

Donna shrugged. "I'm not sure yet; we'll have to wait for confirmation from the Herald. They're waiting for a decent hour before calling the signatories to confirm whether or not they sent them. But it certainly looks like it isn't a one-bad-apple situation."

CJ jumped out of her chair. "Need some help with the phone calls?"

"Yes, thanks," Donna answered, heading back out into the hallway.

CJ followed, then poked her head back in. "Guys?"

Belatedly, Josh, Sam, and Toby remembered they were in CJ's suite. They trudged into the hallway, still a little shocked by the Baker camp's brazen actions. CJ patted Toby on the back and pulled the door shut behind him. Then she and Donna wandered down the hallway, frantically dialing on their cellphones.

Toby turned to look at Josh and Sam. "What do we do when the Sunday morning shows come calling?" he asked.

Sam shrugged, and Josh looked undecided. "We can't ignore it."

"Staff it out to the Haskell camp," Sam suggested. He glanced around, belatedly noting Toni's absence. "Where's Toni?"

"She was really tired," Toby answered quickly. "We can't duck. We're going to have to address it."

"I'll do it," Josh suggested.

"You really won't."

Sam shrugged. "Send CJ."

Toby frowned, watching Sam for a long moment. "No," he said finally. "I think you should do it."

Josh glanced at Sam, then at Toby. "I don't think it's going to be our decision," he said. "I'll go call Jason."

* * *

Another election year, another national convention. No big deal.

At least that's what Josh kept telling himself. There really was nothing new under the sun, he thought as he looked around the convention hall. Too much red, white and blue; too many balloons; too many damn people scurrying around to make sure everything went off perfectly, though it never quite managed to do so. The scene was as familiar to Josh as his mother's home.

Problem was, it was a little too familiar. It was a little too much like last time, and he couldn't stop remembering Bartlet's inability to win re-nomination, that heartbreaking night with Donna, Hoynes' Faustian offer -- the whole nightmarish experience. Most of all, though, Josh couldn't stop remembering how abysmally stupid he'd been.

Not politically. No matter what the Sunday morning crew said, he still believed he was one of only a handful of people who could've brought the Hoynes/Gillette ticket back from the edge four years earlier. He had, of course, ultimately failed, but considering the situation -- Healthgate, Bartlet's numbers in freefall, a strong Republican challenger -- he had needed to do what was best for the Democratic Party. Right or wrong, Josh had felt at least partially responsible for Bartlet's downfall. He still did.

He should've known better. He really was, all egotism aside, one of the top political minds out there these days, but he'd been too blinded by idealism to understand that Bartlet had to have had a flaw. Josh should've recognized that Leo was far too close to the situation to see it clearly, and he should've handled it during the campaign.

If Josh had discovered the MS during the Bartlet for America campaign, he was convinced, he could've defused the situation and gotten Jed Bartlet elected anyway.

That, Donna assured him, was pure egotism. He believed it anyway, and if he could've prevented the political fallout from Healthgate, obviously he was partially responsible for the toll it took on the Bartlet administration and the Democratic Party. Jumping to Hoynes, trying to salvage the 2002 election, that had been his penance, and he did not regret his move. Not really.

That festering regret, that empty feeling he'd lived with for three long years -- that was the result of the pathetic way he'd handled leaving his friends and colleagues.

Josh looked around at the preparations, wandering slowly toward the pole that read "CONNECTICUT." What he was really seeing, though, was Donna crying in CJ's arms on the convention floor in Seattle; Sam's shell-shocked expression in a hotel hallway; the President's grim acceptance in a well-appointed suite. All around him, workers discussed last-minute details, bickering over the "handmade" signs, the bunting on the front of the stage, but all Josh could hear was Leo's simmering anger, CJ's furious renunciation, Toby's bitter sarcasm, Donna's hollow goodbye.

How could he have done that to them? How could they possibly have forgiven him for such a lapse in judgment?

Josh stopped underneath the Connecticut pole, listlessly tugging at the helium balloons, watching absently as they swayed.

"You know," said a familiar voice, "I'm pretty sure they'll give you your own if you play nice."

Josh spun around, eyes wide. Leo McGarry stood before him, dressed in one of his best suits, a convention badge dangling around his neck. "Leo?"

Leo nodded, giving Josh that half-grin. "You think I'd let you kids mess up my convention?"

Josh flinched. "Your convention?" he joked, trying to cover it up. "I thought you were retired."

But Leo had caught Josh's momentary discomfort, of course. Leo was a pretty astute guy, and now he was giving Josh that same concerned look he'd seen far too often after that one hellish holiday season. "What's wrong?" Leo demanded.

Josh brushed off his concern. "Nothing. I just don't think red is my color," he answered, gesturing at the balloons.

Leo dipped his chin, letting the subject drop. "What're you doing down here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Unless I'm mistaken, your candidate has a pretty big speech to make tonight. I'm wondering why you're admiring the décor instead of prepping her."

Josh allowed himself a small smile. "She doesn't need prepping."

Leo looked amused. "That's awfully Zen for you, Josh."

Shrugging, Josh turned, fixing his gaze on the stage. "I don't think my decision-making skills are at their best come convention time." He grimaced at the bitterness in his voice, wishing he could take back the words.

"Josh, you can't seriously--"

"You should come," Josh interrupted. He steeled himself and turned back to Leo. "I know they're going to want to see you. We have a suite--"

"Not yet," Leo said, glancing around at the workers. "Take a walk with me."

"Are you kidding? It's August."

"I'm aware of that," Leo answered.

"We're in New Orleans."

"Yeah, that's what my plane ticket says."

"It's like soup out there," Josh protested, even as he dutifully fell into step beside Leo. They emerged into the bright, hot, humid air; and Josh realized belatedly that his sunglasses were still in Donna's carry-on.

"So, Josh," Leo began, but Josh flung a hand up.

"Leo, this isn't going to be the guy falls into a hole thing, right? I mean, it's a good story, don't get me wrong. Almost up there with the block of cheese thing, but I really am fine, so--"

"Josh," Leo interrupted, not unkindly. "Shut up."

Josh blinked, still squinting at the sun glaring off the pavement. "Okay."

"You're right," Leo said finally, his tone conversational. "You really are fine." He paused for a second, letting that sink in. "You just seem to be the only one who doesn't know that."

"Leo, I..." Josh frowned, not sure what he wanted to say.

Glancing sideways, Leo gave him an expectant look. "You what?"

Josh shrugged. "I know that." His tone was utterly lacking conviction, and he blew out a frustrated breath. "Look--"

"No, you look," Leo stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing Josh to face him. "You screwed up four years ago. Not by leaving, I don't..." Leo waved a hand in the air. "It's not the choice I would have made, but I can't tell you that you were wrong."

Josh nodded slowly. "I wasn't. Not about that."

Leo held his gaze. "You're right. But you burned bridges when you left. You know that."

Josh had to look away; he couldn't bear the sympathy in Leo's eyes. Instead, he examined the dirty sidewalk with undue fascination, pressing the toe of his shoes against the rough surface. "I know."

"What you don't know," Leo continued, "is that you made it right." Josh jerked his head up, staring at Leo, who nodded. "You did, Josh. This past year."

"The campaign--"

"I'm not talking about the campaign, though that's part of it. You made it right with the people you left behind."

"I can't make it right," Josh argued. "Not really."

"You," Leo answered, "are the one who told it to me straight that night in the elevator, Josh. I drank a minibar nine days before the election, and I was sure I was done. There was no way I could make it right." The corners of his mouth quirked upwards. "There's this guy who fell into a hole."

Smiling, Josh nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"You've been outta that hole for months, Josh. Look around."

Slowly, Josh turned, following Leo's gaze down the block. The Convention Center was festooned with red, white, and blue bunting, and an enormous sign that read "2006 Democratic National Convention, New Orleans" stood out in stark relief against the concrete exterior.

"This isn't a retread, Josh," Leo said quietly. "You made it back."

"Yeah," Josh murmured, staring at the sign. "I guess I did."

* * *

Bittersweet, CJ decided.

Being back at the Democratic National Convention was in some ways a vindication, yet Susan Douglas-Radford was playing second fiddle to... a good, solid candidate. Good. Solid. Not exactly the most awe-inspiring adjectives, but Senator Haskell would make a good president. There was that word again: Good. CJ figured it was akin to damning Haskell with faint praise, but it was the best she could do, the way she was feeling.

Definitely bittersweet.

She glanced around at the group gathered in her suite. It wasn't really her turn, but she didn't mind. It was kind of nice having them all in here, even though the atmosphere of the convention was affecting them in different ways.

Evan, Mr. Apolitical, was the most jazzed of them all. He hadn't known any of them four years ago and had never had any interest in politics, yet here he was at a national convention. And not just attending; he had a pretty good badge. Not as nice as the staffers' badges, which got them almost anywhere, but Evan's was good enough for him. He was wedged over in the corner now, scribbling notes on the small notepad he'd carried with him as he'd wandered the floor of the convention hall, brown eyes sparkling with excitement. No doubt he'd soaked in all the details -- the number of balloons tied to each post, whether the states' delegations were arranged alphabetically or geographically, what brand of bottled water they were serving. Evan always noticed the things that slipped past CJ, and she had no doubt they'd end up in a future book. Another one that wasn't at all about her, of course.

Evan glanced up, catching her watching him. He waggled his eyebrows and smiled, and she grinned at him.

"CJ?" Sam asked, appearing suddenly at her shoulder.

"Yeah?" she answered, turning to him. He looked good, of course, but not quite as buoyant as he had for a while there.

"I'm gonna use your phone, okay? Just let me know how much it is."

"Sure." She watched him as he headed for the bedroom and some semblance of quiet. "Tell Jesse we said hi."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, giving her a small smile. He disappeared through the doorway, and CJ wondered if she should try to talk to him. He'd been on the phone to San Francisco quite a bit, and CJ suspected he was having trouble with this. The convention was the most blatantly political moment thus far in what had been, for him, a campaign about recapturing his idealism. He wasn't one to be wowed by the pageantry of the convention; he was usually holed up in a hotel room frantically rewriting the speeches. Though he missed a lot of the ceremony of the thing, he also was able to avoid the backroom deals -- cabinet positions, contributions, that sort of thing.

The wheeling and dealing wasn't CJ's favorite part of the process either, so she certainly sympathized.

"Cheese puff?"

CJ turned a skeptical gaze Toby's way. "Cheese puffs?"

"Sure."

"Did I miss the part where we passed the joint around?"

Toby rolled his eyes. "They didn't have any pie."

"They did too," Toni corrected without looking up from the polling book in front of her. "You didn't like the pie."

"Boston crème pie," Toby informed her, "is not pie. It's cake. It's misnamed."

Toni glanced at him with a grin. "So?" she shrugged, brandishing a forkful in his direction. "It's damn good."

Toby ignored her and addressed CJ. "Am I to understand that you don't want a cheese puff?"

"Nah," CJ answered, grabbing the small plastic bag out of his hand. "I just wanted to make fun of you a little bit first."

"Okay," Toby nodded, retreating to the table. "Just as long as we're done with that part now."

Laughing, CJ snagged a handful of cheese puffs then abandoned her comfortable chair to walk them over to her husband, who beamed up at her. "Cheese puffs. Thank you."

"Sure," she answered, leaning one hip against his chair as she watched Toby and Toni work together at the table. They weren't speaking, just occasionally passing pages with scrawled notes (Toby) and highlighter marks (Toni) back and forth. CJ wondered what was really going on with them, but they were both pretty private. It was clear that they were still... CJ couldn't think of an appropriate verb, so she skipped ahead, examining Toni's weary face in the harsh fluorescent light. Though she was surely tired, Toni was probably enjoying this experience the most out of all of the staffers. She had no baggage from 2002, nothing shadowing this convention for her. CJ admitted that she was rather envious.

At least Toni's enthusiasm seemed to be keeping Toby from retreating into himself to brood. He'd been quieter the last week or so, watching them all carefully, especially Josh. CJ was convinced that Toby still blamed himself for not stopping Josh four years ago. He'd been so protective of Josh since Rosslyn. They all had, really, which had probably been another reason why they were so angry at him for leaving. Not only did Josh ditch the Bartlet staffers for Hoynes, he'd removed himself from their guilty, watchful, protective gazes.

CJ shuddered, pulling her sweater more tightly around her shoulders as Evan slung one arm around her hips, gently patting her thigh. "You okay?"

"Yeah," CJ answered, gazing across the room to Donna, who sat near the little kitchenette, legs drawn up onto the chair. She was reading the dailies, or at least she was trying to, but she kept glancing over at the door. The convention was a strange experience for Donna. She'd been so young and wide-eyed at the first one, way back in 1998. And then the events of 2002 had left her broken-hearted. Now to be back, so unexpectedly, and after such a strange turn of events -- well, Donna was having a bit of trouble adjusting. But, CJ suspected, that was nothing compared to the energy she was putting into worrying about Josh.

Josh, dear, idiotic boy, had left some time ago, ostensibly for a walk, but he hadn't looked that good. In fact, he'd been growing more and more withdrawn this week, and he was pale -- almost as if this intervening year had disappeared, and he was still a political persona non grata.

Not only was CJ worried that Josh was wandering around brooding, as was his wont, but also that he would miss the upcoming meeting with Haskell's staffers to hash out their response to the letter-writing scandal. Or that he'd attend, but be lost in his self-recriminations; CJ needed him operating on all cylinders.

A knock at the door roused her from her thoughts. Donna started to rise, but CJ moved to answer it. She swung the door open to find Josh practically bouncing right there in the hallway, all energy again. "Look," he said, moving into the doorway, "who I found lurking about."

Josh stepped aside, and there was Leo, giving them that warm, lopsided grin.

"Leo!" CJ exclaimed, reaching for him and practically dragging him inside. "Come in, come in!" She hugged him quickly, as did Donna. Toby and Toni shook his hand, Evan waved hello, and Sam appeared in the bedroom doorway, phone still pressed to his ear.

"I hear you're putting on quite a show," Leo said. "Figured I wouldn't want to miss it."

* * *

As he watched his colleagues greet Leo, Sam admitted to himself that he was in something of a funk. Jesse hadn't been able to take a break from the lab for three weeks, and even their daily phone calls weren't enough contact. To make matters worse, the hectic post-convention campaign schedule wouldn't give Sam much time to spend in Berkeley between August and November. Plus, as Jesse had just reminded him, the new academic year would start soon and Jesse's free time was about to shrink even more.

So, while Leo's arrival would have been great news under any circumstances, Sam was happier than ever to see his former boss.

Sam said his goodbyes to Jesse and hung up the phone, moving to join the others in greeting Leo when an unwelcome thought brought him to a sudden halt:

Leo didn't know.

Great, Sam thought, here we go again. Announcing that he was gay had been awkward enough in front of people who were, more or less, his contemporaries. Telling Leo was akin to coming out to his parents. Worse, actually, since Leo's gruff, understated version of affection meant more to Sam in some ways than his father's opinion did.

Still, Sam had decided some months ago that he was through pretending to be some guy he wasn't. It had never been fair to the women he'd gone out with, it wasn't fair to Jesse, and it certainly wasn't fair to himself.

He caught CJ staring at him sympathetically -- Josh was right; sometimes the woman was so psychic that it was scary -- and waited for his chance to talk to Leo alone.

It wasn't easy. Donna had captured Leo first, in order to make sure that he would be at her wedding. Like there was a chance Leo would miss the spectacle of Josh getting married, Sam thought with a smile. The only possible problem was that Josh might overcome Donna's resistance and rush her off to the nearest justice of the peace tomorrow instead of abiding by her original request for a quiet ceremony at Adira Lyman's house after the election. Sam watched with amusement as Leo leaned back in his chair, obviously enjoying the latest installment of The Josh and Donna Show.

"You know," Josh pointed out, "with Leo being here and all--"

"Don't say it," Donna warned.

"Mom could take the next plane out. This time tomorrow, your name could be Lyman."

"First of all, as I keep reminding you, I am keeping my own name. Second, you're overlooking practical considerations such as getting the blood tests and buying the license."

"Minor considerations," Josh countered. "Easily taken care of."

Sam had always found Josh and Donna's banter amusing, even back when he'd been trying to deny his own attraction to Josh. But beneath Josh and Donna's interactions, in the old days, Sam had been aware of a troubling undercurrent: Josh had always seemed to take Donna's presence for granted while Donna, who'd seemed so young and unsure of herself, had let Josh take advantage of her too often. When Sam had warned Donna about working with her former boss again, he hadn't just been projecting his own unresolved feelings about Josh onto her. He'd been seriously concerned that Donna would fall into her old pattern of letting Josh walk all over her.

Sam realized now that he'd underestimated the way their three years apart had changed Josh and Donna. The affection they'd always had for each other was still there, and they still tended to behave publicly as though they were in a roadshow production of His Girl Friday. But Donna had grown more self-assured during her time in California and Josh -- well, Josh finally seemed to be learning how to let Donna know what she meant to him. Hell, Sam thought, three years ago Josh would never have consented to wearing that ring. Now, despite any embarrassment he felt, Josh was willing to wear the silly thing because Donna regarded it as a symbol that they meant to be equal partners in their marriage.

Donna rolled her eyes. "You think that I'll be the one to make all those arrangements, don't you?"

"You're always saying how you're the practical one," Josh shrugged. "Besides, if I made any of those arrangements, you'd say I screwed up and then you'd do everything over."

"I did the most important thing," Donna said, staring pointedly at Josh's hand. "I bought your ring already."

Leo's brow furrowed as he followed Donna's gaze.

"Josh," Leo asked after several moments of silence (marred only by the snickers coming from CJ's direction), "what the hell is that thing on your finger?"

Josh hurriedly stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to change the subject. "Look," he said to Leo, "as long as you're here, we have kind of a political problem that--"

"It's his engagement ring," Donna announced. "Show Leo your ring, Josh."

"First," Josh replied, hands still in his pockets, "we agreed not to call it an engagement ring. Second, we also agreed never to speak of it in public."

"Leo's not public," Donna argued. "Leo's family."

Nice politicking, Donna, Sam thought. Calling Leo family would disarm him if anything would, and it might possibly prevent the otherwise guaranteed mockage.

Or not. To Leo's credit, he tried not to laugh as Josh slowly took his hand out of his pocket and held it out for two seconds. It would have disappeared, probably behind his back -- Josh looked that much like a bashful little boy -- but Donna grabbed his hand and held it up next to her own. "See how well we match?" she asked.

"You do," Leo replied. His voice had taken on that gravelly tone Sam had heard him adopt whenever Leo tried to conceal his emotions. "A damn good match."

"You're not--" Josh started, obviously stunned that he wasn't being mocked.

"Josh," Leo advised him, "wear the damn ring."

Sam was briefly reassured by how quickly Leo accepted the idea that his former deputy was sporting an engagement ring. It was a minor thing, but it was at odds with Leo's generation's standards of appropriately masculine behavior. Maybe coming out to Leo wouldn't be as difficult as he'd feared.

Of course, Sam added to himself, this was Josh. Leo was an old friend of the Lyman family; he'd watched Josh grow up. And the ring was a symbol of a heterosexual union. On second thought, Sam wasn't reassured. Not at all.

He found himself hanging back while the others gathered around Leo, filling him in on the letter-writing story and their qualms about responding to the charges of fraud in the Baker administration.

"Seems to me," Leo replied, "you don't have much choice. The last thing you can afford to do is go on the defensive. If the press is on to this story, that's good for the party. It's bound to weaken Baker."

"But what if they compare it to what happened to President Bartlet?" CJ asked.

"It isn't the same thing," Leo insisted. "This is not a story about the President's health. It's about Gregory W. Baker's campaign staff misusing their power."

"You really think no one's going to suggest that we did the same thing in '98?" Josh asked.

"Let them ask the question," Leo replied. "My God, Congress put you all through the wringer four years ago. It's not like you have anything to hide."

And that, Sam realized, was his cue. He stepped toward Leo, amazed at how dry his throat had suddenly become.

"What if we do?" he asked, careful to look Leo squarely in the eye. Even if the revelation cost him Leo's good regard, Sam decided, he was not going to apologize for who he was. "Not have something to hide," he clarified, "but what if there's something that hasn't been made public yet?"

Leo hadn't gotten to the top of Democratic politics, Sam reflected, without learning how to read a crowd. Sam could tell that the older man was observing Josh and Donna moving to their friend's side, CJ's sudden indrawn breath, Toby's clenched fists.

"What exactly are we talking about here?" Leo finally asked.

Sam took a deep breath and announced, "I'm gay."

Under any other circumstances, he might have found Leo's confused expression amusing.

"You're gay?" Leo repeated.

Sam was vaguely aware of a hand -- Donna's, he thought -- on his shoulder. "Yes, Leo," he answered.

"Gay as in homosexual?"

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Sam found himself grinning. "That's what gay means," he nodded.

"Well, when did this happen?"

"It's not something that just happens, Leo," Sam said. "I didn't just wake up one morning and decide to be gay. I've always been gay. I decided it was time to be who I am instead of who I thought I was supposed to be."

Sam was suddenly much too aware of the way Leo was looking at him, as though he was reassessing everything he thought he knew about Sam.

"Are you happy?" Leo asked.

"Yes," Sam answered.

"Happy enough to make up for all the crap you're going to get when this comes out? 'Cause sooner or later, Sam, this one's going to hit the tabloids."

"Yes."

Leo nodded. "All right then. Just hold up your head and to hell with what anybody else thinks. Although I've got to ask one question."

"What's that?"

"You couldn't have figured all this out before you started dating my only daughter?"

* * *

At the beginning of the meeting between the Haskell and Douglas-Radford staffs, Chris had been alert, attentive and eager to accomplish Important Things. Ninety minutes later, all she wanted was lunch.

Well, she corrected herself, that was not completely accurate. She also wanted to strangle Josh Lyman.

The idea of pushing Dennis off a cliff held its charms as well.

The two men's incessant arguing over the evidence of fraud coming out of the Baker camp was the reason Chris found herself paying more attention to the room service menu than to her spreadsheets. Josh Lyman insisted that the Haskell staff ought to be yelling "fraud" on every political program from Meet the Press to The Daily Show. Dennis countered -- sensibly enough, Chris had thought before hunger made her weak -- that the American people simply wouldn't care enough about a couple of fraudulent endorsements. It was, Dennis maintained, the public's idea of politics as usual.

If she hadn't been getting lightheaded from her lack of sustenance, Chris might have been amused at the idea of the Bartlet gang carrying on about idealism and honesty in politics. She had managed a sarcastic "hmph" when Lyman had the gall to suggest that "you're underestimating the American people." She'd choked back any other response, however, when she noticed the way Donna Moss glared at her.

As Chris opened her purse and searched for the mints she'd picked up during last week's trip to The Olive Garden, she pondered why Jason didn't just stop the argument. After all, hadn't they covered all possible points of view by now? What else was left to say?

"We can't afford to go negative," Dennis was telling everyone for what Chris was pretty sure was the fourteenth time. "Baker's approval rating--"

"Is not that strong," Lyman replied. Popping the week-old mint into her mouth, Chris looked up to see Dennis flinch. She followed his gaze back to Lyman.

Well, she thought, at least I know where Donna Moss learned to glare like that.

"Josh is right," CJ Cregg interjected. Chris watched as Douglas-Radford's media director leaned forward in her chair, almost as if she were separating the two men. "Baker's at 44. An incumbent with those kinds of numbers is vulnerable."

"People still like Baker," Dennis insisted. "Even if they don't think he's the strongest leader ever. He projects that next-door neighbor quality."

"Assuming you live next door to the village idiot," Toby Ziegler muttered.

"We go negative," Dennis continued, "and it'll look like we're beating up on Mister Rogers."

This time it was Toni Timian who snorted. "You want us to believe that 56 percent of the people don't approve of the job Baker's doing as president, but they still think he's such a nice guy that they'll vote against the bullies who proved he's a crook?"

"There's precedent," Jason said. His soft Southern drawl was in stark contrast to the raised voices that had been ricocheting around the room for nearly two hours. "Half the House Oversight Committee got voted out after Healthgate."

Chris watch as the Bartlet gang exchanged looks she didn't quite understand.

"We're aware of that," Toby Ziegler replied.

Chris shifted uncomfortably in her chair, feeling as though she'd walked into the middle of some sort of family tragedy. This, she thought, was the worst thing about working with the Bartleteers. You never quite knew whether dissecting the recent history of American politics would be taken as a personal insult.

For an excruciating moment, no one spoke. Finally, Josh Lyman leaned back casually in his chair, as though nothing that had been said affected him personally. "Look," he said, "the bottom line is that Baker's staff committed fraud, and people need to be reminded of that as often as possible."

"That," Dennis shot back, "sounds damned hypocritical coming from the mastermind behind the Healthgate fiasco."

There were moments, Chris decided, when the urge to shove Dennis off that cliff was particularly strong.

For some reason, Chris's attention caught on Donna Moss, who looked as if someone had just stepped on her pet hamster and she was ready to take her revenge. Before she could speak, however, Josh Lyman let out a derisive snort. "I've always been against taking credit for other people's accomplishments, but taking credit for happenstance--" He gave one of his incredibly smug half-shrugs. "--sure, why not."

"Josh--" Sam tried, tense and on the edge of his seat.

"No, no," Josh answered, smirking just a little. "I kinda like being referred to as a mastermind. Dennis, considering the credit you're giving me -- you know, that I masterminded the campaign that put Jed Bartlet in office -- don't you think you should listen to me here?"

Yeah, Chris thought, she definitely wanted to strangle Josh Lyman. Judging from the annoyed look on Toby Ziegler's face, he wasn't too thrilled with Josh either, though Chris couldn't quite figure out why.

Dennis crossed his arms and glared at Josh. "Yes, Josh, won't you please concoct a scheme that will get us all investigated by Congress? Because that's just what this campaign needs."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

It took Chris a minute to figure out who'd spoken in that soft, deadly voice. To her surprise, it was Sam Seaborn, mouth tight with anger, piercing gaze trained on Dennis.

"You," Sam continued, "all of you are just so sure you're right, so smug and self-righteous."

Dennis laughed outright. "Do I really need to make the comment about the pot and the kettle?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "Laugh all you want, Dennis, but you're wrong. You're wrong about Josh, you're wrong about Jed Bartlet, and you're wrong about the rest of us. Do you really think you're the only one who was affected by the Congressional inquiry? Do you think your claim that Healthgate hurt the Party can even hold a candle to what the rest of us went through?" Sam leaned forward, his attention shifting to Jason. "Do you think we weren't furious when we found out?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. CJ and Donna exchanged worried glances, while Josh just watched his friend, his brow furrowed. Then Toby said Sam's name in a warning tone. Chris watched curiously, but Sam barely glanced at his former boss, he was so involved in his staring contest with Jason.

Jason almost smiled when he said, "I don't care about your righteous indignation, Sam."

"This isn't righteous indignation," Sam argued. "This is a little reality check for you. Jed Bartlet is a good man who never thought he'd win. He wanted to reach some people who'd never heard of him before. He wanted to give some speeches, maybe open some minds. What he didn't realize was that Leo McGarry was about to recruit Josh Lyman."

"Sam," Josh started, and Chris was amazed at the realization that he almost looked... embarrassed. Now that, Chris thought, was something she never thought she'd see.

Sam ignored Josh. "The President should've told us during the campaign; we could've fixed it. He should've told us, and he didn't, and there's still a little part of me that's furious with him. If he'd trusted us, we would've--" Sam broke off, his jaw working as he swallowed hard. He shook his head just a little. "We could've fixed it," he repeated. "But Jed Bartlet is a proud man. He's smarter than any ten people I know, and one day his mind is going to be compromised. He was scared and he didn't want to admit it, and he made a mistake." Sam looked back over to Dennis, his expression hardening. "A mistake. That's all."

Dennis didn't look impressed. "Pretty costly mistake." Chris had to work hard to curb the urge to kick him.

"Dennis," Jason snapped, never taking his eyes off of Sam. "What's the difference?"

"The difference?" Sam echoed.

"Between the story you just told me and what the Baker campaign is doing?"

"What's the difference?" Sam repeated, incredulous. "Are you kidding? Jed Bartlet made a small decision that had enormous consequences. He was wrong. He's admitted it. What the Baker campaign did was knowingly and willingly decide to commit fraud on the electorate. They did it purposefully. They did it repeatedly. There is no comparison between Jed Bartlet's mistake and Gregory W. Baker's campaign-wide fraud."

Jason stayed quiet for a minute, then nodded and almost smiled. "Yeah," he said finally. "We're putting you on _Crossfire_."

Josh started to shake his head. "Wait--"

"We are?" Sam asked.

"We are?" CJ echoed. Then she rolled her eyes at Toby's amused look.

For her part, Chris was actually quite amused by the shocked look on Dennis's face. Not that she necessarily agreed with Jason's decision to put Sam in front of the cameras, but it was nice to see Dennis's smug self-confidence undercut every once in a while.

Toby, on the other hand, seemed pleased. "Yes," he answered. "We are."

"Why," Dennis demanded, "are we putting Sam on _Crossfire_? Jason, he's one of the Four Bartleteers--"

"Dennis, seriously?" Josh interrupted, smiling in a way that Chris could only characterize as dangerous. "I was giving you a pass on the 'Healthgate' thing, but 'Bartleteers' is a little too far."

Jason ignored Josh entirely, answering Dennis' (and Chris') question instead. "Did you hear him? That's exactly what we need. The insinuation is that this is no worse than what Bartlet did. We need someone who can genuinely sell the anger they felt when Bartlet's secret illness came out, but who can also articulate exactly why that is a completely different case from the Baker fraud." Jason flipped his folio shut. "Sam's our guy."

"I am?" Sam asked.

Donna leaned forward and touched his shoulder. "You are." Then she glanced around at the others. "Now can we talk about tonight's speech?"

* * *

Leo McGarry had been in attendance at every Democratic National Convention since the seventies; and as much as they were all alike, they were also all very different. That first one had been his introduction to national politics, to the pageantry and artifice. It had been the day he left the remnants of his idealism behind and embraced the pragmatism that later won him a coveted Cabinet position. Of the many skills he'd picked up during his wartime service, his ability to identify the most important person in the room with a single glance had served him well, and he started to associate with Party bigwigs and Congressional candidates.

Leo, who rose through the ranks of the national party relatively quickly, cultivated a reputation as the guy who could get things done. At each subsequent convention, Leo's title grew more and more impressive. Illinois State Chair; DNC National Treasurer; President of the DNC; Secretary of Labor; Campaign Director for the nominee; White House Chief of Staff.

Now, years later, Leo stood on the floor of the convention hall with no title. No job. No official reason to be there, besides nostalgia. But his allegiance to the Party had never wavered, no matter what Josh had thought back in 2002. Leo and Josh just had different ideas about what was best for the Party, and Leo didn't regret his decision. Not even standing there, untitled, watching the proceedings from the floor like a delegate.

Oh, he had a pass. Quite an impressive pass, compliments of Josh, no doubt, but Leo had always abided by his own strong ethical code. He wasn't attending the convention for any official reason, and he would not accept the special privileges that such a reason would provide.

Instead, he'd filed onto the floor and found a good vantage point off to the side. The delegates and partisans wanted desperately to be in the candidate's line of sight, to be noticed, to be close; Leo wanted the broader picture. From where he stood, he could see the left side of the stage, behind the bunting. He could see CJ tapping her clipboard impatiently against the palm of her hand, her quick gaze double-checking the staging; he could see Toby, rocking very slightly on the balls of his feet, hands shoved in his pockets, that penetrating gaze focused on Toni, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Leo remembered that combination of terror and elation, of knowing you are responsible for bringing this politician -- this friend -- so far. Even from as far away as he was, he could read the joy and nervousness on Toni's face as she paced, blonde hair floating around her.

On more than one occasion, Toni's tight circles nearly collided with Josh's erratic patterns. Josh had never been one for standing still in a crisis; instead, he worked off his nerves and his excess energy and his fear of failure by remaining constantly in motion. And by talking non-stop. Behind Josh's small swath of floor stood Donna, folio clutched to her chest, eyes on Josh. Leo wasn't close enough to tell, but he would bet Donna's knuckles were white. Just over her shoulder, Leo could see Sam, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, sharp blue eyes trained at the podium, at Jesse Johnson Jr., no doubt appreciating every word of Johnson's introductory speech.

Perfect choice, Leo thought. Idealistic and intelligent, Johnson fit in nicely with Senator Haskell and Governor Douglas-Radford's platform. And Leo's protégés had successfully avoided choosing a female Democrat to introduce the Governor, who was already fighting the perception that she was brought onto the ticket to bring the female vote. That was, to be fair, partly true. After all, if the 19th Amendment were revoked tomorrow, the Republicans would take the presidency by an impressive margin. American men voted Republican upwards of 53 percent; white men, who were the largest single voter group, topped 60 percent for the GOP. Consequently, women were the X factor in this election; and the Governor had a strong following among Democratic, Independent, and liberal Republican women voters. But to play upon that by having someone like Ann Richards introduce her would be a gilded invitation to the Republican strategists to turn the upcoming months into gender warfare.

"Ladies and Gentleman," Johnson said, grinning widely. "It is my great honor to introduce the next vice president of the United States--" His words were drowned out by cheering.

Leo glanced at his former staffers, who had moved aside in deference to the Governor. They stood in a crooked line, unevenly spaced, but all smiling broadly at their boss, who leaned in to speak to them. Leo had no idea what she said, but he saw Donna swipe at her eyes, saw Sam's lips pressed together in an effort to contain his emotions, saw Toby's gruff nod.

"Please welcome Susan Douglas-Radford!"

As Leo joined in with the deafening applause, he watched the Governor squeeze Josh's hand, give Toni a hug, kiss Donna's and CJ's cheeks, pat Sam's shoulder, and shake Toby's hand on her way onto the stage. She paused at the edge, inhaling a deep breath and letting it out slowly, gathering her composure; just before she stepped out, Sam appeared at her elbow and handed her something, probably a tissue. The Governor leaned over and gave him a fast hug, then straightened and strode confidently out onto the stage. She met Jesse Johnson Jr. at the podium, embracing him quickly, then turned to the microphone, "Thank you, Jesse Johnson Jr.!"

She led the crowd in applause as she stepped back, allowing Johnson to wave as he made his way off stage. It took several minutes for the crowd to quiet; Susan Douglas-Radford stood at the lectern, waving, thanking her supporters, smiling down at them from the Jumbotron in the middle of the convention hall.

Leo's attention strayed once again to Josh and the others. They stood silent and still, their eyes all trained on the Governor, restrained but happy looks on their faces as they watched this moment, absorbed it, drank it in.

"Thank you," the Governor said when the noise levels finally abated. "I want to thank you all for coming tonight and for tuning in when you could just as easily be watching the Braves kick the Yankees around."

The crowd lit up again, and Leo smiled. A baseball reference. Perfect. He glanced at Toby, who looked impassively pleased.

"I appreciate your continued support, America, and I'm here tonight to promise you that Mark Haskell and I will live up to your expectations."

Watching his old staff watching her, Leo was confident that she was right.

* * *

Sam watched Josh in the mirror, amused. Josh was pacing the length of the green room, which wasn't unusual, but the fun part was that he was arguing Sam's absent opponent aloud for reasons that Sam couldn't quite understand. He figured Josh was still bitter that CJ and Donna -- not to mention Senator Haskell and the Governor -- refused to let him go on the show.

Josh really wanted to tangle with Dylan McCorkle, Republican whiz kid and Baker's deputy chief of staff. Not only did Josh have ideological opposition to McCorkle, he resented the fact that McCorkle was currently occupying his office in the West Wing.

Well, not Josh's actual office, which, if Beltway rumors were to be believed, was currently serving as a storage closet. No, McCorkle had chosen Toby's old office, closer to the Oval Office -- which, in Washington, was political currency -- and a much nicer space than Josh's dungeon-like former stomping ground.

At any rate, Josh had a bee in his bonnet about McCorkle. Which was precisely why they'd chosen Sam.

"Josh, you're making me dizzy."

"So stop watching me," Josh shot back. Then he frowned, giving Sam a strange look.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," Josh answered quickly. "What kind of name is McCorkle, anyway?"

Sam grinned. "A Scottish name?"

"Whatever," Josh dismissed.

"I'm pretty sure making fun of the guy's name isn't the way to handle this," Sam offered, still smiling.

"Gonna have to disagree with you on that, Sam," Josh answered, pausing momentarily to stare at Sam in the mirror.

Laughing, Sam turned his attention back to his reflection, smoothing a stubborn lock of hair into place. "That's why Jason Bezdek sent me and not you."

"I protested that decision," Josh said.

"I know," Sam answered dryly. "I was there."

"Oh. Right."

Sam gave up on his hair and spun the chair around to face Josh. "It's a thing," he said simply. "We have to talk about it."

"I know, but we're exactly the wrong people to be talking about it. We should've sent Bezdek. He was great on Sunday."

Sam watched his friend for a moment, noted the tension in his frame. "Yes, but we can't hide from this. It's not the same thing, Josh, and we didn't know about the President's illness."

"You think that matters?" Josh scoffed. "You know how bad that looked? How bad we looked? For any one of the 'Bartleteers'--" Josh's mouth twisted into a grimace as he repeated the phrase McCorkle had used. "--to go on TV and talk about deceptive campaign practices is a very bad idea."

Sam grinned outright. "You were arguing exactly the opposite position two days ago."

Josh opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, but a knock at the door of the green room interrupted them. "Mr. Seaborn?" asked a young, moderately pierced woman with a soft British accent. "We're going to need you in a minute."

"Thanks. I'll be right there." Sam waited until the door closed, then stood and stepped closer to Josh. "We need to hit this stuff head on so it doesn't become about us. And maybe I'm the right person to do it, Josh, because I was pissed at him--" He stopped, averting his gaze for a moment. "I was angry, Josh, and I'll tell them that. The President knows, Leo knows -- You all do. Maybe it's time they do," he finished, gesturing at the muted TV in the corner.

"You think that'll help?" Josh asked quietly.

Sam shrugged. "The truth never hurts, right?"

Josh stared at him, his expression shuttered. "Maybe you're right," he said finally. "We can't afford to lose the bump in our numbers."

Sam grinned and pulled on his suit jacket. "We won't," he declared.

* * *

Josh paced the small green room after Sam left, keeping one eye on the TV. He circled the room once, in search of the remote, and then unmuted the sound. Standing momentarily still, Josh watched the top-of-the-hour headlines and then resumed his restless motion.

He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't quite relax. He agreed that the issue needed to be addressed by one of the "Bartleteers," and he even thought that Sam was probably the best person to do it; he was good at righteous indignation.

But something felt off. McCorkle, when Josh had passed him in the hall, seemed too calm. It could, Josh admitted, have just been his game face; Josh had done much the same thing every embattled trip he made to the Hill and to the TV studios during Healthgate. But still. Something was up.

Josh had pretty good instincts -- politically speaking -- and he trusted that unsettled feeling enough to call Donna back at the hotel.

"Josh, why are you calling me?"

He grinned. "Ah, the dulcet tones of--"

"Seriously, Josh, I've got Rose-Marie Scheck on hold. She wants our position on government subsidies for small farmers."

"We support that."

"Why, thank you, Josh," Donna answered with gentle sarcasm. "I had no idea."

"I'm just being helpful."

"That's one word for it." She paused. "Why did you call?"

He looked back at the television, where the hosts were going through their introductions. "Never mind," he said finally. "It's nothing."

"How's Sam?"

"I don't know; he's on the air," Josh answered, watching Sam's sincere smile, his precise movements as he clipped the mic to his tie. "I need to watch this."

Laughing, Donna said, "Okay. I'll stop bothering you then."

Josh said goodbye and hung up, tapping the antenna of the phone absently against his chin as he watched the discussion on TV. So far so good, he thought. Sam was doing well. He positively oozed trustworthiness. Donna assured Josh that he, when he was on TV, oozed smarminess. Josh didn't quite agree.

But Sam -- his candor made him an excellent spokesperson. That and his encyclopedic knowledge of legal precedent. He was, just now, discussing the history of election fraud in America.

Josh groaned and turned to the window, only half listening to the impromptu lecture. It was almost like being trapped in a room with a cheerful Jed Bartlet, he thought. A barrage of words.

And then one word caught his attention. One word flung at Sam with a sneer and a superior attitude. Josh spun around and stared at the TV, where Dylan McCorkle had just asked, his tone accusatory, "Well, you're gay, aren't you, Sam?"

Sam didn't answer, his expression blank. No doubt the words hadn't yet registered, not really. "Excuse me?" Sam asked reflexively.

"You're gay, Sam," McCorkle repeated over the hosts' protests. "Don't you think hiding your dangerous lifestyle choice--?"

"Now wait just a--"

"--from the American public is a calculated and deceitful attempt to lull them into a false sense of security?"

"A false sense of security?" Sam parroted, dumbfounded. "Dylan, I don't know what--"

"You haven't answered the question," McCorkle pressed.

Josh hit speed dial one.

On TV, the host interrupted with "He won't," and rang the small bell on the desk. "Dylan, this discussion isn't about anyone's sexual preference, and--"

"These letters everyone's so fired up about were an honest mistake," McCorkle continued. "Meanwhile, the same people who deceived the American public about Jed Bartlet's health are hiding more pertinent--"

Donna answered grimly. "We're on it, Josh."

"What do I do?" he asked.

"Don't punch McCorkle when you see him," Donna warned. "And, Josh -- call Jesse. Tell him not to answer his phone until he talks to me."

"Yeah," Josh answered quietly.

"It'll be okay," Donna reassured him. "I have to go."

Josh hung up, pausing when the camera cut to Sam, pale and stonily silent. The host, obviously irritated with McCorkle, raised his voice and spun the show to commercial. Quickly, Josh scrolled through his phone book and dialed Jesse's number.

"Hello?" Jesse answered, sounding a little rushed, but still cheerful. Obviously he wasn't watching TV.

"Jesse, this is Josh Lyman."

"Josh, hi." Jesse's tone grew worried. "Is something wrong?"

"Sam's fine, if that's what you mean," Josh answered. "I'm calling because--" He stopped, frowning. How do you tell someone that their life just became tabloid fodder? Josh sighed. "Look, Jesse, Sam's on the air right now, and--"

"Someone outed him," Jesse interrupted in hushed tones.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Someone asked the question," Josh explained. "Sam didn't answer, he didn't have to answer, because the host jumped in, but... it's out there now. Someone's going to start looking."

"Obviously someone already has," Jesse answered angrily. "What does this mean?"

Josh stared up at the ceiling, hoping for inspiration. None came. "I honestly don't know, Jesse."

Jesse didn't answer.

"I'm sorry about all this," Josh offered. "I had no idea -- When Sam joined the campaign, I didn't know--"

"You wouldn't have hired him if you'd known he was gay?"

"No," Josh answered quickly. "No, not at all. I'm saying, I didn't know that there was this thing out there that could hurt him. If I'd known, I would've... done something," he finished lamely.

"He loves it," Jesse answered. "He knew this could happen, he talked to me about it, but he loves it." Jesse sighed tiredly. " And so we'll deal with it."

"We'll all deal with it," Josh vowed. "We're going to help any way we can."

"Yeah." Jesse paused. "Shit!" he yelled after a moment.

Josh grimaced. "Jesse--"

"Is there something you need me to do now?" Jesse interrupted, obviously not ready to hear Josh's attempts at commiseration.

"Don't answer your phone," Josh instructed grimly. "I don't know who has what information, but sooner or later, they're going to start calling you. Don't speak to the press until you talk to Donna. Do you need her number?"

"No. Sam gave it to me," Jesse answered bitterly. "Just in case."

Josh winced. "He's off the air in ten minutes," he offered.

"I'll call him then."

"Good." Josh's attention caught on the TV, where they were coming back from commercial. Sam looked pale and a little shell-shocked. "I think he'll need you."

* * *

"Law offices of Sam Seaborn."

The voice on the other end was familiar, Jed Bartlet thought. He frowned, searching his memory for-- "Ginger!" he exclaimed.

After a short silence, she stammered, "Sir?"

"Please," he answered, smiling at the thought of Toby's quietly determined assistant, "call me Jed."

The pause this time was longer, and Ginger sounded bewildered when she said, "Mr. President, it's so wonderful to hear from you. I was -- Oh, shoot."

"What's the matter?" Jed asked, leaning back in the wooden desk chair. He'd all but forgotten that Ginger had accepted Sam's job offer after the debacle in 2002, and he was pleased to find out she was still there. Anyone who could work in daily contact with Toby Ziegler for four years had to be a strong, compassionate, and infinitely patient person.

"The other line is ringing." Ginger was flustered, her words clipped and tripping over each other. "I really should answer -- What am I saying? I apologize, sir."

"For what?"

"For... considering putting you on hold?"

"There's no need to apologize for treating me like a human being, Ginger. It's all too rare these days. Either I'm the revered former president or the doddering old man with the disease no one quite understands. Unless I'm at home, of course, where Abbey has always treated me like a doddering old man," he added, his gaze drifting to the small, framed picture of Abbey that had rested on every desk he'd used since he'd taken the photograph in 1994.

The awkward silence registered, and Jed realized that Ginger probably didn't know quite what to say to the revered former president. "You can put me on hold, Ginger," he told her kindly.

"It actually stopped ringing, sir."

"Oh! I've made you miss a call. I'm so sorry, Ginger."

"No, please, don't apologize. It was just another damn reporter," Ginger answered, anger in her tone. "Excuse me, sir."

"For what?" Jed asked, puzzled.

"For swearing."

"Ginger, my wife and I consider ourselves experts in the fine art of cursing members of the press." Ginger chuckled, and Jed asked, "They've been calling?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Ever since--"

The President sobered, his pleasure in speaking to a former staffer fading into the background as he remembered the reason for his call. "I heard. I haven't seen the tape, but Leo told me."

"Sir, may I ask -- why did you call here?"

Jed leaned back in his seat, barely hearing the creak of the wood protesting his movements. "Because I know that Donna and CJ will have ordered Sam not to answer his cellphone. It's probably not even turned on. I wouldn't dare call either of them, or Josh or Toby; they're all too busy with damage control. But, Ginger, I would very much like to talk to Sam, and I figured if anyone can get in touch with him right now, it's you." He frowned. "Well, you or Sam's... Do you say 'boyfriend?'"

"Yes, sir," Ginger stammered.

"That'll take some getting used to," Bartlet mused. "Anyway, I'm sure Sam's boyfriend could get hold of him too, but I don't know this young man, so that does me no good."

"Right," she said. "Um... I can get in touch with him, but it might take a few minutes."

Smiling, he repeated, "Put me on hold, Ginger."

Jed was pleasantly surprised that Sam had chosen to feed NPR into the phone system; instead of muzak, people waiting for assistance could hear intelligent debate and important news that the networks wouldn't find sexy enough to cover. Unfortunately, even NPR found the abrupt, politically motivated outing of Sam Seaborn too sexy to pass up. Jed caught a short news blurb on the topic, tucked in between the entertainment update and a look at traffic in the Bay Area. Essentially, NPR reported that the wire services were reporting that Dylan McCorkle had publicly claimed Sam Seaborn was gay and Seaborn hadn't denied it. Sounded like quite a bit of unsubstantiated hearsay, in Jed Bartlet's opinion, and he was mentally composing his angry letter to the news director when the news cut out and Ginger said, "Sir? Are you still there?"

"Of course," he answered.

"I'm connecting you to--"

"How is he?"

Ginger hesitated again. "He sounds... numb."

Jed sighed. "Thank you, Ginger." There was a soft click and then silence. "Sam?"

"Sir," acknowledged a voice that sounded very little like the Sam Seaborn Jed Bartlet knew. "How are you?" he inquired dully.

"Sam, I want you to listen to me for a moment."

"Sir, I have--"

"I have been there," Jed said, his tone quiet but forceful. "One moment you're talking about issues and views and what you hope to do for the country, and the next, you realize this one immutable thing about your personal, private life, this one thing is all people are going to talk about for the next little while." He paused. "You're going to get a lot of advice, Sam, from people you know and from people who think they know you."

"ACT UP already contacted Donna," Sam answered, the slightest hint of anger in his voice.

"I know, and I'm sorry," Jed said. "They're going to try to politicize your life. Don't let them."

"Sir, I don't know how I can--"

"You hold your head up. You think about all the things you've accomplished in your life. You think about this -- I'm sorry, what is his name?"

"Sir?" Sam asked, sounding almost panicked.

"Leo called," Jed answered by way of explanation. "He said there's someone, that you're dating--"

"Yes. Jesse. His name's Jesse."

"Okay, Jesse. You think about Jesse and you think about your law offices and you think about this campaign. Know how proud your family is of you -- of all you've accomplished and of the man you are today -- and be proud of yourself."

"I am," Sam mumbled.

"Sam--"

"I really -- Sir, I am," he interrupted, a little life in his voice now. "I just need some time to... remember that I am."

"Okay," Jed agreed softly. He paused for a moment. "Now call CJ. She always knows what to do."

"I'll do that, sir."

"And Sam?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You have my phone number. Please don't hesitate to use it."

* * *

When Josh Lyman had joined Douglas-Radford's campaign, Toni had held him at arm's length, appreciative of his talent (and his wit) but unsure of his motives. And, to be quite honest, of his morals, considering the questions left unanswered after the Healthgate scandal. And when he'd enlisted his old colleagues, her worst suspicions had been confirmed.

Or so she'd thought.

It really had been a smart move. Josh's political acumen was balanced by CJ's and Donna's instinctive understanding of the press, and his tendency to comment without weighing the consequences was tempered by Toby's and Sam's facility with words.

But more than that, they brought experience and wisdom, having been through it all once before. And every single one of them was an idealist at heart, a quality Toni recognized in herself and admired in others. Working in politics, dealing with bills that forced you to weigh the welfare of nameless, faceless children without health insurance against the HMOs' possible campaign contributions, had a tendency to deaden that spark of humanity. It took hard work and determination not to fall into the trap of self-serving decisions, motivated by what committee your boss would get, what her seniority would be, what extra privileges you would earn by putting her there.

That rank, depressing, soul-killing side of politics was the reason Toni had nearly chucked it all and moved to Vermont to teach at UVM. Not long after that job offer came in, Toni had met a state senator from Pennsylvania, a smart, funny, determined woman who was considering a bid for the House; Toni had never once looked back. After hearing some of Toby's horror stories about teaching college students, it was abundantly clear that Toni had chosen correctly.

Still, Toni guarded her idealism, and she guarded herself. She could play the game, and she could play it well, but she knew her actions were not guided by a selfish quest for political clout. When she'd met Toby, whom she'd expected to loathe, the strange fascination she'd felt instead had thrown her for a loop. Until she realized that he, like herself, was a dyed-in-the-wool liberal. And he still believed it was possible to do good things.

During the long bus rides and the even longer nights, Toby wasn't the only one of the former Bartlet staffers who'd made it past Toni's defenses. So when Shallick said what he said, she wasn't surprised that she was angry on Sam's behalf. What she didn't expect was the ferocity of her anger.

It had been two full days of damage control, of spinning, and of keeping Sam away from the press. He was still reeling, as was Jesse, who couldn't fly out to join them, since he was effectively trapped in his home. Toni hoped the conflicting messages Sam and Jesse were both getting -- you have nothing to be ashamed of, but don't talk to the press -- weren't making things worse.

As it turned out, Sam was in his room on Donna's orders when it happened, and not in Toni's suite, for which she would be forever grateful.

Fox News (who else? she thought) had put together a "story" on Sam, consisting of clips in which various right-wing crackpots made disgusting, homophobic, and quite possibly slanderous statements. Rob Patterson, notorious anti-gay, anti-Semitic, anti-feminist, anti-common sense "Christian," had managed to tie high unemployment, the graduated income tax, prostitution, witchcraft, and the media's "obvious liberal slant" to Sam in less than a minute. Worse, though, were the snide, sneering remarks about "dangerous lifestyle choice" and "harmful to the youth of America" interspersed with the queeniest gay men Toni had ever seen making licentious remarks about Sam's looks. All of which served to reinforce the story that Fox News wanted to tell -- homosexuality is a deviant lifestyle choice, and now it's going to be in the White House.

The topper was Vice-President Shallick's comment, "If my opponent thinks that Sam Seaman's lifestyle is perfectly acceptable, you can imagine what she and her partner have in store for God-fearing Americans."

And every single person in Toby's suite had jumped up in outrage, even Evan, who six months ago wouldn't have understood all the hidden meanings in Shallick's words. Toby, who'd been muttering throughout the segment, slammed his glass down so hard a web of cracks appeared. Josh was up and pacing, Evan flicked off Shallick's image on the screen, and CJ and Donna were tossing possible statements around.

"Scare-mongering," CJ suggested. "Irresponsible remarks."

"Stronger," Toby insisted, jaw clenched.

"We can't," Donna countered softly. "He's the sitting vice president. We can't call him a homophobic idiot."

"He is a homophobic idiot," Josh pointed out.

Toby had stopped, hands on his hips, head tilted back a little, looking down at Donna imperiously. "You're suggesting we let this go?"

"No," Toni said, shaking her head. "No way. We hit back."

Nodding, CJ said, "Yeah, but we have to hit back carefully. We can't attack Shallick."

Toby grimaced and turned away, staring sightlessly at the striped wallpaper. Brushing past, Toni touched his arm lightly, knowing he was struggling to bring his anger under control. "We attack the ideology," Toni suggested.

Josh paused, half-blocking the TV. "Homophobia," he nodded. "We point out the fear and hatred behind the anti-gay--"

"No," Donna argued. "I hate to say it, but there are quite a lot of homophobic voters--"

"Republican voters," Toni interrupted.

"Not all of them," Josh muttered, one hand propped on his hip as he worked on the problem. "We can't make this about gay versus straight. That way, we win San Francisco and lose the election."

Toby swung around to face them. "We make it about straight, white, rich men who don't like people who aren't just like them."

"Anti-everything different from them," Toni said. "Pro-status quo."

"Right," CJ agreed, picking up the thread. "For people who claim that the government should get out of people's lives, they sure are doing their best to peer into citizens' bedrooms."

"Also," Evan said, brow furrowed. He spoke hesitantly, as if he weren't quite sure if his idea was worth interrupting them. "Can't you say something about the implication that having a gay staffer means that the candidate has a radical, pro-gay agenda?"

Toni stared at Evan for a moment, wheels turning. CJ made a delighted noise, leaned over, and kissed her husband.

"Yes," Donna said, breaking the others' momentary paralysis. "We have straight staffers. We have white staffers. We have black staffers, Asian staffers, Latino--"

"Young, old," CJ chimed in, ticking off the categories on her fingers. "Rich, middle class, working class."

Toby dipped his chin. "Labor. The environmentalists. Quite a few contradicting radical agendas."

"Meanwhile," Toni said, grinning at Evan, "Baker's cabinet is overwhelmingly white, male, and rich."

"Don't forget corporate," Donna added, starting to pace. She'd picked up a couple of Josh's habits during the past six months. "It's not a reflection of America; it's a reflection of America in 1950."

Josh beamed at her. "That's perfect."

Donna rolled her eyes and pointed at Evan. "Thank him."

With a smile and shrug, Evan deflected the praise. "Obviously I've been around you all too damn long."

Josh watched him thoughtfully. "Maybe."

"What about the original accusation?" Donna wondered. "The secrecy issue?" She grimaced at the sound of her cellphone's ring and dug it out to check the caller ID. Then she frowned and answered it. A short conversation followed, punctuated by Donna's reiterations of "Yes" and "Okay."

Toni watched impatiently. She figured it was one of Haskell's people, calling from halfway across the country to rein them in, make sure they didn't do anything stupid. Like their jobs.

Donna hung up, her blue eyes sparkling. "That was Jason," she explained. "The Haskell camp feels that it's time to show a united front. The Senator's stepping out for dinner just now."

Grinning, CJ guessed, "He's going out through the lobby?"

"Yup. You think he might run into some press?"

They gathered around the TV and switched to CNN. It only took ten minutes for Senator Haskell's comments to be bulleted and scrolled in the news ticker; five more minutes, and the package was edited and aired.

Mark Haskell, dressed flawlessly in a dark suit, was shaking his head, a slight smile playing across his lips. "Sam Seaborn, whose name the Vice-President apparently has trouble remembering, is a valued employee on our team, and our campaign is non-discriminatory. Judging both from the lack of diversity in the current administration and the President's refusal to meet with gay members of his own party, I'd say that the problem is homophobia, and it lies elsewhere."

"You know," Toni commented after the round of cheers died down, "I'm really starting to like that guy."

* * *

Josh Lyman was a creature of habit.

He would have denied it, of course. He would have asserted that he craved adventure. Creatures of habit, he would have insisted, did not have successful careers in professional politics. He would have maintained that he was, in fact, the quintessential risk-taker.

Donna knew better. The man had lived in the same townhouse since graduating law school and moving to DC. He really did have a regular Tuesday suit. He had carried the same backpack until it was literally falling apart at the seams, and she had never known him to change either the message on his answering machine or the wallpaper on his computer.

In short, while Donna was willing to concede that Josh did take his share of risks professionally, she knew that her future husband was not fond of surprises. She also knew that, following a long day on the campaign trail, Josh would be expecting three things when they got to their hotel suite: room service, CNN, and sex.

He wouldn't be getting room service or CNN, and the lovemaking would no doubt be delayed longer than he expected. She thought, now that they were ten feet away from their suite, that it might be prudent to tell him so.

Just to head off any potential sulking.

She grabbed the sleeve of his crumpled blue dress shirt. "Josh, before you go in there, I probably need to mention something."

"What?" he asked.

"There may be some people in our suite."

"No, it's Toby's turn, remember?" He put an arm around her and pulled her closer for what proved to be an extremely pleasurable kiss. "Toby gets to grouse about how Sam and CJ and Toni and Evan are keeping him from writing, and we get the nice quiet suite with the big bed."

After that kiss, Donna shared Josh's irritation over the idea of delaying the lovemaking portion of the evening. However, plans had been made, people had been invited, and it was too late to cancel. "Not so much, no," she replied.

"It's a pretty big bed, Donna. I noticed that first thing when we checked in."

"Yes, but we're not exactly going to have the room to ourselves tonight," Donna said as she slipped out of his arms. "You know how, with the convention and everything, I didn't have time to get you anything for your birthday?"

Josh turned a horrified gaze on her. "No, he said, backing away from the door. "No, no, no, no."

Donna winced. "Well, see, that depends on what you're saying no to."

Josh marched toward her, taking the offensive. "Do you have some sort of birthday party going on in there?" he asked, pointing toward the door.

"Yes and no."

"Are there people in that room? The same room that is supposed to be our sanctuary, our refuge, our--"

"Show a little perspective, will you? It's a hotel room. A few close friends may have gathered to say happy birthday. That's all."

"Are these people wearing funny hats?"

"Evan may have purchased hats," Donna conceded. "Strictly for the comedic value, you understand."

"Streamers? Some hideous banner saying, 'Happy birthday, Josh'?"

"CJ may have--"

"Is there cake?"

"You like cake."

"Not when it's accompanied by people singing 'Happy Birthday,' I don't. You know that."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

Josh's expression resembled nothing so much as a little boy who's just been informed that he can't have a puppy. "Then why would you insist on going through this ridiculous charade? And telling me about it too, which pretty much ruins the surprise."

"Because it's not really your party."

"Well, that makes sense."

"I mean, technically, yes, it's your party. However, it's really for Sam."

"Let me get this straight: You are using the anniversary of my birth as an excuse to hold a party for Sam."

"That's about the size of it."

"Why?"

"Because Sam is going through hell right now, and we all need to show him how much we care. And you know Sam. He's much too modest to let people make a fuss, but he'll do anything for his friends. So we throw a party for you, Sam shows up, we let him know how much we care."

"We haven't been doing that already?"

"To a degree. But it's all been mixed in with the spin. If I were Sam--"

"Can I mention how pleased I am that you're not a gay man?"

"If I were Sam--"

"'Cause that would pretty much ruin my plans for the future."

"If I were Sam, I'd be in need of some serious cheering up. So you will go in there and you'll act surprised, and you will damn well have a good time. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, giving her a mock salute as he walked passed her and opened the hotel room door.

* * *

Toby had been an early supporter of Donna's and CJ's plan for a birthday party for Josh. For one, it relieved Toby of having his room overrun by errant staffers while he was trying to write. For another, Josh hated parties in his honor and would no doubt be forced to wear a stupid hat, which was always good for entertainment value.

But most importantly, though he would never say it, Toby agreed that Sam needed some reinforcement from his friends. Since Jesse's belated arrival on the scene, the two men had been mostly staying in to avoid the press. Not that that stopped the so-called journalists from slinging mud. Many of the op-eds had been cruel, and Sam had exhibited a perverse desire to read them all, even those quoting such so-called religious authorities as Fred Phillips from Westborough Baptist in Kansas whose extremist bigotry was most easily displayed in the fact that their website URL was "godhatesfags.com."

The barrage of unwarranted anger, fear, and hatred slung Sam's way had put Toby in an untenable position. As Sam's friend and former boss, Toby wanted nothing more than to hit all the Sunday morning shows, Crossfire, Larry King, and the rest, to debate those Biblical literalists who sat there in their cotton-poly blends as they quoted the Deuteronomy and excoriated Sam's "deviant lifestyle choices." Toby would have loved the chance to expose the hypocrisy, the fear-mongering, and the outright lies of the loudest homophobes on the talk show circuit.

But he couldn't do it.

As a member of the Governor's campaign staff (and someone regarded as a morally dubious "Bartleteer"), Toby's words, measured or not, would do very little good. In fact, a full-blown attack on the Baker camp over this would only shore up Baker's support by the "Religious Right" while simultaneously weakening Douglas-Radford's stance among liberal homophobes.

As much as it baffled Toby, there were quite a few liberal Democrats who viciously opposed Vermont's civil unions, equal rights legislation that included "sexual orientation" as a protected class, and even gay pride parades. The Douglas-Radford team couldn't afford to make the election about Sam's homosexuality, or homosexuality in general. So handicapped, the Governor's staff had been spinning their little hearts out to change the subject, to talk about the Baker camp's forgery, to talk about the faltering economy.

But Sam's story was too delicious, too sexy for the tabloids to drop. They rehashed the Laurie story from almost a decade earlier, they tracked down Jesse's name and biographical information, and they even reported Sam's and Jesse's affection for the Coffee Fairy in San Francisco, a tidbit that delighted Rob Patterson and his ilk.

In the face of the onslaught, Donna was reduced to terse statements that the campaign did not comment on the personal lives of its staffers, and bland, blanket affirmations that the Governor supported equal rights for gay Americans. In many ways, Sam and Jesse had been left out there, dangling in the spotlight by themselves.

This party was the rest of the staffers' chance to prove they were behind Sam and Jesse all the way, even if their public statements weren't as adamant as they'd like.

As CJ, Evan, and Toby waited in Josh and Donna's room for Sam and Jesse's arrival, they were more than a little taken aback when the door opened to reveal Dennis Cybrynski and Jason Bezdek.

CJ tilted her head to the side. "Hi, guys. Is there a thing?"

Jason very nearly smiled. "You mean a crisis of some kind?" he asked in his genteel drawl. "No. We're here for the party."

CJ blinked. "Oh," she said, holding the door open to allow them inside. "Sure. Come on in."

Dennis, who was something of a literature geek along with being the most annoying Haskell staffer Toby had met thus far, made his way directly to Evan and introduced himself. Toby felt surprisingly little guilt for sacrificing Evan to the attentions of Dennis; mostly he was relieved that he didn't have to talk to the nasally twit.

Sam and Jesse arrived not long after the two Haskell staffers. Sam noticed Jason Bezdek talking to CJ and glanced over at Toby with a quizzical look. Toby lifted one shoulder almost imperceptibly, and Sam nodded. "Jason," he said as he approached Haskell's press secretary. "So glad you could make it tonight. Josh should be here any time."

The next knock on the door brought not Josh (which made sense, Toby figured, since Josh would have no reason to knock on his own hotel room door), but Toni Timian, accompanied by Adira Lyman. Somewhat startled, Toby rose to greet them.

"Mrs. Lyman," he said, wondering when CJ and Donna had arranged for her to fly out.

"Please," Josh's mother answered, her bright eyes sparkling, "call me Adira."

Toni touched his arm. "Don't bother arguing with her, Toby."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Toby answered, sliding his knuckle down Toni's arm as he smiled at Josh's mother. "I'm glad you could make it, Adira."

"Thank you," she answered, glancing around the room. "I'd like a word with Sam and his Jesse. Won't you excuse me?"

"Of course," Toby answered, but Adira was already gone, introducing herself to Jesse with a smile, guiding him toward Sam. Toby watched, amused, as Jason Bezdek greeted Adira Lyman and then excused himself, no doubt understanding the reason she was corralling Sam and Jesse.

Jason caught Toby's gaze, nodded, and crossed the room to greet Toby and Toni. "Nice party," he commented, munching on a handful of pretzels.

"There are hats," Toby answered, gesturing at the stack of sparkling purple cone hats on the side table.

"I think I'll pass on that," Jason answered. He nodded at Toni. "Has the Governor mentioned anything about the debates?"

Toni frowned. "What debates?"

"The mini-debates," Jason answered, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in what, for him, passed as glee. "You do remember the proposal?"

"Of course," Toby answered impatiently. "I thought the Senator nixed the idea."

"No, I nixed the idea," Jason said. "And then your boss spoke to my boss, the Senator thought about it, and he instructed me to contact the Baker camp about the possibility."

"When did all this happen?" Toni demanded. "Why weren't we told?"

"You were a little busy," Jason answered, nodding toward Adira, Sam, and Jesse. "To be fair, we all were busy with damage control, but Baker's numbers have been slipping."

"I know," Toby nodded, eyes narrowed. "He dropped two points, but his campaign insists their internals are better."

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Jason answered. "There is no longer a discernible lead in this race, which means that propositions that were once scoffed at by the Baker camp have been reconsidered."

"Are you serious?" Toni interrupted, incredulous. "Mini-debates? They're willing to put Baker in front of the cameras unscripted?"

"No."

She frowned. "Then what the hell--"

"They'd like to restrict the mini-debates to Shallick and the Governor."

"Vice presidential mini-debates?" Toby remarked. "Doesn't quite have the same ring."

"Not to mention," Toni muttered, "that it's quite a mouthful."

Jason ignored her comment and answered Toby, "Which is exactly what they're hoping for. They want to be able to shut the press up by agreeing to the mini-debates, while protecting their guy from coming off like a buffoon in front of live cameras."

Toby frowned, "You agreed, I hope?"

Jason actually smiled, "Absolutely. And then we tell the press--"

"How much we'd like the Senator to participate, but Baker is refusing," Toby finished with a slow nod.

Toni jumped in eagerly. "Right, and how silly will they look while saying, on the one hand, that the mini-debates are a good idea, and on the other, that Baker won't take part?"

"Because he's too busy," Jason said. "Which is easy enough to disprove by pointing the press in the direction of his travel plans of late."

"He's spent more time on the road than attending to the people's business," Toby agreed. "Meanwhile, the Governor can fire back at Shallick for his crack about Sam."

"Exactly," Jason answered. "And may I say that I damn near lost my religion with that man."

Toni handed Jason a drink. "You know, I think I'd pay money to see that."

"Oh, there wouldn't be any witnesses," Jason answered, lowering his voice. "Just me, Shallick, and a secure room with no windows." He straightened and raised his cup at Toni in thanks. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to say hello to the guest of honor."

Toby watched Jason make his way over to Josh, who looked suspiciously unsurprised as entered with Donna. Beside him, Toni asked, "He was kidding, right?"

***

By the time Josh made his anti-climactic entrance to the party, Sam was thoroughly confused.

First, Jason Bezdek had made a point of approaching Jesse and welcoming him. Granted, Jason had never met Jesse before, and it was possible that, given the situation, Jason just wanted to be sure that Jesse knew there were no hard feelings, but still. Jason, whose utter lack of readable emotion was legendary, had seemed almost... warm. He'd nearly smiled.

Then Adira Lyman had appeared out of nowhere. Sam wondered how he'd missed the fact that Donna had called Adira. He'd thought the party was rather last minute; but if Adira had managed to fly in from Connecticut, perhaps Donna and CJ had put more planning into it than he'd guessed. At any rate, it was always wonderful to see Josh's mother. But she too had made a beeline for Sam and Jesse, taking them aside to murmur encouraging words and tell them how proud she was of their poise and grace under fire.

Jesse had turned a truly adorable shade of red at her words, and Sam couldn't resist taking his hand. They'd been very careful with public displays of affection since Sam's disastrous appearance on _Crossfire_. They weren't denying the relationship or trying to make excuses, but the thought of a picture that captured their affection, their love for each other, being used in a fundraising letter for Baker's far-right supporters was enough to make Sam ill.

But here they were among friends. Sam even grudgingly included Dennis Cybrynski in that category (though he still found the man rather irritating) because the limited amount of support the campaign could afford to give him had been equally as strong from the Haskell side.

Come to think of it, Sam frowned, why was Cybrynski at a birthday party for Josh? Jason, Sam could understand, since Josh and Jason seemed to have an understanding of some kind, an agreement about the ultimate goal for the campaign, though they often disagreed on the specifics. The two men were standing in the middle of the room talking, as Donna snatched a shiny purple hat and turned back to her fiancé.

Josh and Dennis, on the other hand, had taken an almost instant dislike to each other. As evidenced by the snickering from Dennis when Donna clapped the purple cone on Josh's head. Josh rolled his eyes, pulled the hat off, placed it atop Donna's golden locks, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

Something inside of Sam ached a bit as he watched them. He wasn't pining for Josh, not anymore. He'd long since gotten past those unrequited feelings. No, the thing that Sam envied was that Donna and Josh could publicly acknowledge their feelings for each other. CJ and Evan, Toby and Toni -- they could all go to dinner together, go dancing, do whatever they liked without fear of a cruel tabloid story.

Well, Sam admitted, that wasn't entirely fair. The story of Josh and Donna would no doubt result in some insinuations about their time together as boss and assistant. Still, they wouldn't become the boogey monster for the Religious Right.

And the others would be free to offer Josh and Donna very public support without risking any political fallout.

"Sam?" Jesse asked softly, squeezing his hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied, ashamed of the direction his thoughts were taking. He understood the situation, he really did. He knew why the statements from the Haskell/Douglas-Radford camp had been so... passionless. But knowing didn't make it sting any less.

"You're a horrible liar," Jesse informed him with a hint of a grin. Sam was continually impressed with Jesse's equanimity. Under the circumstances, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if Jesse had decided that the public furor was too much to deal with, that maybe he'd want to cut all ties with Sam and go into hiding, at least until the worst of it was over. Instead, Jesse had flown to Sam as soon as he'd been able, and he'd been amazing ever since, even joking (badly) about his new options in life -- writing a tell-all book, becoming a talking head on TV...

"I am, aren't I?" Sam asked, turning to Jesse. Sam could see the toll this had taken on Jesse; his lover looked tired, the fine lines around his eyes deepening. Sam's gaze traced Jesse's familiar features, and whatever envy he'd been feeling dissipated. They may not have the public acceptance that Josh and Donna or CJ and Evan, or even Toby and Toni had, but that wasn't important. What was important was the man in front of him. "I don't know why I even try," he admitted.

Jesse nodded slowly, a slight furrow between his brows. "You don't have to lie to me."

"I know that," Sam answered without hesitation, touched, as always, by Jesse's forthright manner. He edged closer. "I don't want to lie about this," Sam murmured. For someone who prided himself on his facility with words, he sometimes found himself remarkably unable to express himself properly. "I know it's been awful, but in a way I'm glad this happened. I don't want to have to hide how I feel about you."

"Me, neither." Jesse pulled him into a quick hug, releasing the pressure almost as soon as his strong arms encircled Sam. Instead of pulling back, Sam gathered fistfuls of Jesse's shirt in his hands and pressed him close, surprised to find his eyes suspiciously damp. Pulling back, Sam ducked his head, took a deep breath, and sheepishly turned back to the party, waiting for the first sarcastic remark from his friends.

Instead, he found CJ beaming at him as she strode to his side. "Hey, Sparky," she started, patting Jesse's shoulder. "I don't want to ruin the festive occasion with politics--"

Laughing, Evan commented from across the room, "You people ruin every festive occasion with politics."

CJ spun around, shot him a mock glare, and said, "Evan, dearest, do be quiet." Then she turned back to Sam and Jesse, drawing them closer to the rest of the group. "Despite my husband's comments to the contrary, the lot of us are quite capable of having fun without bothering with politics--"

"Not during an election year," Josh interrupted, smirking.

Sam laughed, nodding his agreement with Josh's assessment. Beside him, Jesse grinned and took a sip of beer. Sam was reassured to see Jesse at ease with the people who had done very little to stop the media frenzy. Not that Sam blamed his friends and colleagues for their lukewarm public reaction to what happened on _Crossfire_ ; they couldn't have known. But because Jesse didn't care to understand the nuances of politics, it wouldn't have surprised Sam to learn that Jesse harbored something of a grudge.

To Sam's relief, Jesse's expressive face showed no signs of discomfort or anger as he scanned the room.

Rolling her eyes, CJ remarked to Sam and Jesse, "Apparently, I'm not going to be able to finish a sentence without editorial commentary from the peanut gallery."

"True statement," Toby commented just to be difficult. He ignored Toni's derisive snort and pulled out one of his cigars.

"No smoking that in here," Donna warned, wrinkling her nose. "Josh and I have to sleep here later."

Eyes sparkling with amusement, Toni said, "You know, there are so many comments I could make here."

"Please," Josh said, his voice somewhat strangled. Sam stifled a laugh as Josh flushed, desperately trying to avoid looking at his mother, "I beg you not to."

For her part, Adira sounded quite amused when she said, "I'll second Josh's plea."

"You know," Jason Bezdek remarked, "I really should've started hanging out with y'all earlier. Y'all are more entertaining than Jon Stewart."

"Okay," CJ said over the laughter and hoots, "while I appreciate being compared to Jon Stewart, I must ask you all to shut up so I can tell Sam about the mini-debates."

Sam perked up. "What?" he demanded. He admitted to himself that he'd been deeply disappointed by Senator Haskell's refusal to participate in the mini-debates. It was a good idea, dammit, and Sam hadn't joined this campaign for more politics as usual. To hear that the proposal had not been completely forgotten was... well, heartening. Sam turned his expectant gaze to CJ.

"That's right." CJ smiled warmly at him. "Jason told Toby and Toni that--"

"We're doing the mini-debates?" Sam interrupted, starting to grin. For the first time in a week, the harsh words and cruel innuendo receded to the edges of his consciousness. Instinctively, he looked to Jason Bezdek for confirmation.

Jason nodded from his seat across the room. "We've got some more details to work out, but I think it's safe to say that we'll have started by the middle of September."

Grinning, Josh lifted his glass to Sam. "Looks like you're the one who got the birthday present," he commented. Donna whacked him in the arm and he yelped, "Ow!"

"You'll get yours later if you're good," Donna answered primly. As a wave of laughter swept through the room, she turned bright red and glared at CJ, who had, of course, started it. "That's not what I meant!"

Unrepentant, CJ's lips curved into that feline smile. "Spare us the details, Donna, I beg of you." She ignored the protests of the blushing couple and turned her gaze back to Sam. "Senator Haskell approved your idea himself," she said. "He wanted to be here tonight--"

"To celebrate Josh's birthday?" Sam interrupted.

"Uh..." CJ looked to Donna, who shrugged and said, "Yes. He... uh..."

With an eloquent roll of his eyes, Toby tucked his unlit cigar into his breast pocket and stepped in to explain, "The Senator wanted us to pass along his thanks, Sam. He was aware there would be a small gathering, but both the Senator and the Governor had prior engagements."

Eyes narrowing, Sam glanced at the faces of his friends and colleagues, absorbing their good will. He had a niggling suspicion that this party wasn't really for Josh. Toby was a decent liar, but Sam had learned over the course of four years to read the signs. Adira Lyman's presence was a very good cover, but Sam thought that maybe, just maybe, the party was meant for him. For him and for Jesse.

His friends must have hated being forced by political expediency to leave him twisting in the glare of the public spotlight. Incidents came back to him, comments and expressions and actions that had escaped his attention at the time. Toby's terse, angry remarks on the wretched hygiene and dubious lineage of several prominent right-wing commentators, more vicious than usual; CJ's mouth, set in a tight line as she watched the Sunday morning shows; Donna hurling her cellphone across the room after one particularly obnoxious phone call; Josh disappearing for long periods, only to reappear looking just as tense and stressed.

How, Sam wondered, could he have missed the toll this situation had taken on his colleagues? How could he have missed their quiet, constant support, their anger on his behalf, their pathetic attempts to mask a party for him and Jesse as a birthday soiree for Josh. Josh Lyman, whose hatred of Happy Birthday was legendary.

It occurred to Sam that his friends all seemed to be watching him expectantly. Then Sam looked over at Jesse, who was beaming at him happily. Jesse, who'd been tossed through the looking glass over the past week, every detail of his life scrutinized by an unforgiving press -- that Jesse could stand there and be so unabashedly happy for this small, insignificant political victory was amazing.

"Congratulations," Jesse said softly.

And Sam couldn't help but lean over and kiss him. Then, ignoring the cheers from Donna and CJ, he pointed at the sidetable. "Give me one of those damn hats."

* * *

**November 2006**

Toby craved a cigar.

He wanted a drink and a cigar and an end to all the damn tension; it was unbearable. Really. The sad thing was, there was no reason for it. None.

The exit polls were incredibly good. Almost unbelievably good. The Haskell/Douglas-Radford ticket looked like it would easily net three hundred electoral votes, probably more, and they were leading by a seven-point margin in the popular election. They'd carried Haskell's home state of Michigan, the northeast, California, the northwest, and, of course, the Dukakis states in the Midwest. They'd managed to pull out a victory in Florida, and Pennsylvanians had supported their Governor and her running mate by an impressive margin.

In short, they'd won.

Susan Douglas-Radford would be the next Vice President of the United States.

Toby knew this, he really did. Everyone in the room knew it. Hell, they'd known for a week that Baker's slim lead was eroding.

But knowing didn't seem to stop the frenetic, electric tension. Josh was pure kinetic energy, zipping around the room and pestering everyone in his path for updated exits from Oregon, from Washington, not that it mattered. Sam was in the corner, frantically writing and rewriting the concession speech, which was absurd, since they didn't need it. Evan was over in the corner, pretending to write and trying to stay out of the way, but his eyes were everywhere -- on his wife, on Josh's antics, on the TVs. CJ and Donna were working the phones, calling and re-calling everyone they knew at CNN, at ABC, at MSNBC for confirmation, as if they needed it.

Toni was with the Governor and her husband, holed up in their hotel room, and Toby had no doubt she was vibrating with anticipation.

In this suite, Toby was the only one sitting still, his eyes returning again and again to the victory speech he'd written in a fit of sleeplessness. Sam was the only one who'd read it, and he'd had actual tears in his eyes when he looked up. Whether that was from severe lack of sleep or because the speech was good, Toby couldn't say. He was hardly objective. But he knew, deep down, he knew that in an hour, the Governor -- the Vice-President Elect, he corrected himself -- would get up in front of thousands of people and speak these words he'd written. He knew it.

But he needed to hear the damn announcement on CNN, on PBS, on ABC. He needed the election to be called so that this damn tension would--

"Oh, my God," CJ mumbled, and even with all the other noise -- Josh's petulant pleas, the strangely loud scratch of Sam's pen, the four TVs blaring -- even with all of that, everybody in the room heard her. They all stopped whatever they were doing, their eyes on CJ. Her gaze was locked onto a TV set, one hand frozen in mid-gesture, hanging forgotten in the air.

Toby reflexively shifted his attention to the television, to CNN, as it turned out, where the blow-dried anchor had paused, one hand on his earpiece as he nodded just a bit. "Yes," he started, stopped again, listening. "Okay, we're ready to call the election. The next President of the United States will be Senator Mark Hask--"

The rest of his words were drowned out by the cheers of the assembled staffers. Toby found himself shouting right along with them, suspected the look on his face was just about as giddy as everyone else's.

All except Josh, that was, who still stood frozen in the midst of the chaos, his expression nearly blank as he stared the television in mute disbelief. Toby glanced over and grinned at the graphic -- a picture of Haskell with the caption "President-Elect Haskell" underneath. He looked back to Josh, who had finally moved, stepping close to the TVs, as if he still couldn't quite believe it, as if he'd never let himself believe it was even possible they would win.

Toby pushed himself upright, catching Josh's eye. "You did it," Toby said quietly, knowing Josh wouldn't be able to hear the words, not amidst the shouting from the others. Josh understood, though, and he finally began to react, a smile breaking out across his stunned face seconds before Donna tackled him.

Toby turned, but he didn't move fast enough to avoid Sam's boisterous hug. Toby clapped him on the back heartily then stepped back. Beyond his former deputy, CJ was grinning and cheering, one arm wrapped around her smiling husband. And that's when it happened.

Toby had allowed himself to become distracted; he'd taken his eyes off of the devious Donnatella Moss, who'd clearly lost her mind. As the familiar, mellow strains blasted out of the stereo, she turned back to the others, a giant smile on her face.

Sam laughed outright. "Donna, this is hardly party music."

Groaning, Toby protested, "No, no, no. CJ, do the Jackal."

"Fuck the Jackal," CJ replied with a saucy grin. "Donna, turn up Helen Reddy!"

Grinning widely now, Josh swept CJ up into a hug, then held her at arms' length. "Fuck the Jackal? Haven't we had enough scandals already?"

CJ laughed and pulled Sam over, giving her boys a big group hug as Donna complied with her request and cranked up the music.

Not one for hugs, Toby settled back into his chair and lit his cigar, his gaze sliding back and forth between the coverage of the frenzied crowd outside Haskell's headquarters and the absurd sight of Donna and CJ, arms linked, singing _I Am Woman_ at the top of their lungs. Evan had collapsed onto the couch, laughing too hard to join in.

Josh and Sam, on the other hand, were grinning and mocking the women, who ignored them, raising their voices louder. Toby leaned over and grabbed one of those tiny bottles of Jack Daniels from the minibar and cracked it open. He took a sip, then nearly spit it out when Josh joined in the singing with "I am woman, watch me grow."

Sam cracked up and fell onto the couch next to Evan, while Josh hugged Donna and CJ some more. For his part, Toby found himself humming along to the feminist anthem, much to his dismay. He busied himself with the bar, pulling out every last mini-bottle he could find, then tossing them to Evan, Sam, and Josh, who handed one each to CJ and Donna.

"To making history," Toby declared.

They raised their little bottles; but before they could drink, Josh held up a hand. "Wait. I just wanted to add--"

"Josh," Donna said, pleading with him not to give a Bartletesque speech.

"No, but I just wanted to say that if it wasn't for you guys--"

"No," Sam interrupted, his smile less exuberant now, but no less genuine. "If it wasn't for you."

Josh waved a dismissive hand around. "That's not--"

CJ elbowed him sharply, raised her tiny bottle, and said, "To the aging boy wonder."

"Hey!" Josh protested, laughing as the rest of the gang toasted him.

The next moment, Donna hooked her thumb toward the door. "Should we go make sure the Governor--?"

The door burst open, and Toni Timian whirled into the room, grinning and flushed with glee. "We won!" she announced, engulfing Toby in an exuberant hug.

Amused, Donna turned back to the group. "I guess we don't need to go tell Toni."

* * *

The Manchester house was remarkably quiet for an election night.

Although Liz still lived with her parents, she'd driven up to Montpelier to stay with Ellie, Nick, and little Isaiah, just four months old. Annie, though her grandfather still had trouble believing it, had entered college this past September and wasn't able to get up to New Hampshire on a weeknight. Which left only Jed, Abbey, and Zoey, who'd driven up from Yale for the occasion.

Considering his twenty-plus years as a professional Democratic politician, one might expect Jed Bartlet to be glued to the TV watching the returns as they came in. He wasn't. The TV, in fact, was muted, flashing abstract blue and red patterns all over the empty room. Zoey had wandered off to get some more reading done, something about the lost feminine in Westernized Christianity. Jed and Abbey had retreated to the kitchen, where Abbey was baking brownies and Jed was pestering her.

"One walnut isn't going to kill me," Jed commented, reaching again for the tin.

Abbey tossed him a look, swatted his hand away, and said, "I might."

"Abbey, it's just--"

"You're allergic to walnuts, Jed. Do you not remember the time my mother had to--?"

"Please," Jed interrupted, a pained look on his face. "Don't remind me."

"Why don't you go watch the returns?" Abbey suggested, cracking the last egg into the bowl of ingredients. He could hear the edge in her voice, the irritation. She loved to bake and often turned her frustration with him into some truly delightful desserts. Consequently, the Bartlet household was almost always stocked with baked goods, most of which included chocolate.

Jed sent a distasteful look toward the TV in the next room. "Because that would require me to listen to the incredibly uninformed and unintelligent talking heads as they prattle on with little or no understanding of the will of the people, never mind the electoral process--"

"Forget I asked." Abbey stirred for a while, the only sound in the room the strange, sliding noise of wooden spoon through brownie ingredients. "Are you just going to stand there and watch me?"

"No," he answered, inching forward playfully. "I'm going to--"

"Mom! Dad!"

Jed sighed and turned around to face his youngest daughter, who stood in the doorway, her book dangling forgotten from her hand as she beamed at them. And then he perked up, inferring from the way Zoey was bouncing a little on her toes that the election had been called and it had gone in their favor.

Abbey was beside him, suddenly, her hand on his arm, and the scent of chocolate permeating the air around them. "Well?" Abbey demanded impatiently. "Did they call--"

The phone rang, and Jed and Abbey locked gazes. They were both grinning, and she waggled batter-covered fingers at him, shrugged, then pointed to the phone. "You get it."

Jed rolled his eyes, stepped around the batter splotches on the floor, and grabbed the receiver. When he turned back, his wife and daughter were engaged in an exuberant hug.

"Democrats R' Us," he answered jovially. "Irrelevant former politician speaking."

"They did it!" It was Leo, of course; Leo, who'd taken Josh's abrupt desertion hard and Jed's loss harder. Tonight, though, he sounded as triumphant and as proud as he had on November 3rd, 1998. "They really did it."

"Who called it?"

"CNN, then ABC," Leo answered. "Hell, even PBS has called it at this point."

"So it's real?"

"It's real," Leo confirmed. "And you're hardly irrelevant, sir."

"Maybe if I was, people would stop calling me 'sir.'"

"Not likely."

"Spoilsport," Jed teased, still grinning widely as he followed Abbey and Zoey toward the living room. His gaze caught on the graphic -- a photo of Mark Haskell labeled "44th President of the United States" -- and he murmured, "We got the White House back."

Abbey glanced over at him, recognizing the undercurrent of regret. They should never have lost the White House. This should have been the day that sitting President Jed Bartlet learned who his successor would be. Instead, ex-president Jed Bartlet was here, in his cozy home in Manchester, watching TV to find out if Gregory W. Baker would be unseated.

Jed wasn't sure the muted sting of his ignoble defeat in the 2002 primaries would ever go away. The regret was harder, in some ways, than his illness.

"Are you watching this?" Leo asked, no doubt seated at his desk in his study, CNN playing on the small TV on the sideboard.

"Yeah," Jed answered. "Abbey and Zoey and I are watching."

Abbey took his free hand, absently licking brownie batter from the fingers of her other hand. "Are you proud of your kids, babe?" she asked quietly.

Jed leaned over and pressed a kiss to Zoey's forehead. "I am," he affirmed. "Of all my kids." Then he told Leo, his voice gruff, "Tell them they did their family proud." Abbey squeezed his fingers.

"Tell them yourself," Leo answered. "They'd love to--"

"No, this is their night, not mine." Jed stared at the shot of Mark Haskell. He was a decent man, smart and well-spoken, if not quite leftist enough for Jed Bartlet's tastes. (Though more liberal than Baker by half. Which wasn't hard, really.) But Jed knew Haskell would make a good president, and for the most part, he was elated that the Democrats had won the election.

Haskell headed for the Oval Office, and Susan Douglas-Radford poised to become the first female president. A night to remember, even if it was tinged with some small measure of regret.

"They're thinking about it too, sir," Leo said quietly.

Jed looked down, his gaze on the shine of the TV's reflection in the hardwood floor. "Still."

"Okay," Leo acquiesced. "I'll pass along your congratulations as long as you promise to make it to the Inauguration."

Jed smiled down at Abbey. "I wouldn't miss it."

"You'll call Haskell?" Leo pressed.

"Yes, Leo."

"And Douglas-Radford."

"Did I miss the part where you became chief of staff of my retirement?"

"Wiseass."

"That's Sir Wiseass to you."

"Oh, goodnight, Mr. President."

Grinning, Jed said his goodbyes then tossed the phone carelessly onto the end table.

"Dad," Zoey admonished, rolling her eyes as she rescued the receiver and put it back onto its charger. "What'd Leo say?"

Jed kissed Abbey quickly, tasting a faint hint of chocolate on her lips. "He said we won."

* * *

From a pretty young age, Josh knew he didn't want to be President.

Sure, he'd had the occasional, idle fantasy about what he'd do if he ever became President. (He thought he remembered something about school lunches and ice cream, but the details were lost to history, which was, he figured, probably for the best.) But from age eight, Josh had no desire to be in the spotlight. He'd had quite enough of being whispered about, pointed at, sympathized with, and otherwise singled out in those months after the fire. His dearest wish during that time -- second only to the futile yearning to get Joanie back unharmed -- had been for people to stop looking at him. Josh hadn't wanted anyone to really see him, to see the guilty little boy whose sister was dead.

No matter how many people told him it wasn't his fault, he never believed it.

As an adult (and after years of therapy), Josh understood that guilt was, in many ways, the reason that he'd ended up in politics. Or at least what had made him as good at it as he was. He felt a constant need to do good, to atone for Joanie's death; but he didn't like letting people too close for fear he'd hurt them too. These conflicting desires were channeled into doing good things for the nameless, faceless, average Americans out there.

In other words, a career in liberal Democratic politics.

He'd spent twenty years working his way up: Intern, Aide de Camp, Legislative Assistant, Floor Manager, Chief of Staff, Campaign Director, Senior Political Director, Deputy White House Chief of Staff--

And then there was Healthgate.

It all came crashing down, and somehow, a great man was ousted from office, a putz elected in his place, and Josh Lyman was on the outside looking in. State-level politics, and damn lucky to get that.

But now to be present at this momentous occasion, where a decent man was about to walk out on the makeshift stage in Detroit and make an acceptance speech, was amazing.

Overwhelming.

Terrifying.

Josh stood backstage, trembling with abject, irrational fear that any minute his alarm would go off, and he'd wake alone in his townhouse in D.C. He'd get up, flick on two TVs and NPR, start the coffeemaker, and eat something incredibly unhealthy while leaning over the kitchen sink, all the while wishing he could get back where he used to be.

But it felt real. He was close enough to the stage to feel the incredible heat of the klieg lights, to see the red, white, and blue banners festooning the stage, to hear the frenzied crowd chanting, singing, and screaming.

"Josh!"

He turned, expecting Donna. Or CJ or Toni. But it was Governor Susan Douglas-Radford, radiant in a navy suit, hair neatly coiffed, an elegant but shimmering pin attached to her lapel. And she was grinning at him.

"Governor," he answered automatically. He hadn't seen her all evening, not since their quietly charged final staff meeting just after lunch. Then she'd holed up with her husband in a suite just across the hall from Mark Haskell and his wife to await the results of the closest presidential election in years. Josh felt himself starting to smile. "Excuse me," he corrected himself. "Madame Vice President."

Laughing, Douglas-Radford gave him a quick, heartfelt hug. "Not yet." Her gaze slid past him, out onto the stage, where Haskell's high level staffers were beginning to congregate.

"Can't possibly happen soon enough," Josh told her.

"You're a peach," she answered, studying his face momentarily. "Come with me."

"Where?" Josh wondered, but it was too late. Susan Douglas-Radford was dragging him out onto the stage, out into the spotlight with her husband, Toni Timian, and the major players from the Haskell camp. The barrage of flashbulbs very nearly blinded him, and the crowd roared its appreciation. Josh felt a twinge of panic at the noise, the lights, the chaos; but he inhaled slowly and blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust, scanning the crowd.

Douglas-Radford dropped his hand when they reached Toni, flashing him a grateful look as she continued on to the microphone. She stood there a moment, the cheers far too loud for her to begin speaking, and beamed at the audience.

Toni took Josh's hand, gripping it tightly. She was rocking on her heels, jittery with excitement.

"Deep breaths," Josh warned her with a grin. "I don't want to have to scrape you off the ceiling later."

"Josh, we won!" she retorted.

He found himself laughing. "I know."

Toni shook her head at him, her attention wandering to the crowd. "Then act like it." Her smile changed, deepened somehow, and Josh turned, following her gaze over to the left, where Toby, CJ, Evan, Sam, and Donna stood, a happy wall of grins. Toby had an unlit cigar between his fingers and was laughing as he stood there, helium balloons bouncing occasionally off his pate. He noticed Josh watching him and tossed off a jaunty salute. Josh wondered exactly how much celebratory bourbon Toby'd had already, but he gamely saluted back, which set Toby off laughing again.

Beside Toby was CJ, her arms wrapped around her husband, who didn't seem to know where to focus his attention. He'd press a kiss to his wife's neck, peer intently up at Susan Douglas-Radford, who was pleading for the crowd to simmer down; then Evan would look upwards in awe, taking in the thousands of balloons, the packed crowd. CJ caught Josh's attention and blew him a kiss, which Josh pretended to tuck into his pocket. She laughed and then pointed something out to Evan.

Sam stood just behind CJ and Evan, a study in restrained jubilation. Josh knew him well enough to recognize the look on his face; Sam was fighting a face-splitting grin, and Josh had a pretty good idea why. Of the former Bartlet staffers dragged through the campaign mud, Sam and Jesse had suffered the most. Their hometown had been incredibly supportive, but the weeks of op-eds and tabloid coverage had done a number on Jesse, who'd never experienced being the center of a political sex scandal before. Sam and Jesse seemed to be doing okay, all things considered, and they were both undoubtedly happy to see the Haskell/Douglas-Radford ticket succeed. But they'd paid a high personal toll in the process.

His smile fading, Josh met Sam's gaze and dipped his chin in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry," Josh said, knowing that Sam couldn't hear him but would understand anyway.

Sam watched him for a moment, the edges of his mouth quirked upwards. Then he nodded, that familiar cover-of-GQ smile making an appearance.

"Thank you," Susan Douglas-Radford said, her amplified voice loud and mellifluous. Josh glanced over to the lectern where she stood, one hand up in a plea for calm. "Thank you so very much. I'd just like to say a couple of words here."

Josh looked back down to his colleagues, his friends, his attention shifting to Donna. Her blue eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed with color, her lips turned up as she trained her gaze on the Governor. Josh was captivated by Donna, by the changes in her, by the similarities. This wasn't the woman who'd cried in CJ's arms on the convention floor in Seattle. This wasn't the woman he'd taken to bed four years ago. She was breathtaking and strong and beautiful and funny and kind. She always had been, only now she was... more so.

With her impeccable timing, Donna looked over at him, their gazes colliding. Her smile grew, and she raised her eyebrows at him, tilting her head toward Douglas-Radford as if to say, "Why aren't you listening to the Governor?"

Smirking, Josh shrugged insolently.

Donna rolled her eyes, as off to his right, Susan Douglas-Radford said, "And I'd like to take a moment to thank my dedicated campaign staff, most especially my chief of staff, Toni Timian, and my campaign director, Josh Lyman. Without whom--"

Donna was actually jumping up and down as she clapped, Toby waved his cigar around in the air, and CJ, Evan, and Sam cheered loudly enough to force the Governor to pause. Laughing, Josh and Toni exchanged glances and then nodded their thanks to Susan Douglas-Radford.

"Without whom," she continued, "I wouldn't be standing here tonight, ready to introduce to you the next President of the United States, Mark Haskell!"

Standing there with Toni, with Donna, CJ, Toby, Sam, and Evan twenty feet away in the audience, with Susan Douglas-Radford about to ascend to the vice-presidency and with a good man elected president, Josh didn't even really mind when the power-chords of Born in the USA blared out over the loudspeakers. Josh started to clap as he stood there in this place that he'd earned, and he watched the next president take the stage.

As Josh looked out over the crowd, he made a promise to himself, to his candidate, to his friends and colleagues, and to his party: If Josh Lyman had anything to say about it, the song being blared on election night 2014 would be _The Power and the Glory_.

* * *

**January 20, 2007**

The Inauguration, CJ thought, had gone off beautifully: Baker had taken his long-awaited (by CJ, anyway) plane ride to obscurity, the streets of D.C. had held a minimum of protestors, and it was almost bearable outside.

Almost. CJ was sure that someone -- probably the _Washington Times_ \-- would run a picture of her looking like Rudolph, her nose bright red with cold. Still, CJ figured that was a small price to pay for the result: a female vice president.

Damn. She was grinning again.

CJ remembered the day Jed Bartlet was sworn in, the sheer jubilation that Toby, Josh, Sam and she had felt, the way they'd walked around beaming like utter lunatics. But she'd honestly thought they were too jaded to be that giddy a second time around. Obviously, she'd been wrong. They'd been doing it all day -- grinning for no reason, laughing aloud, that sort of thing. All of them; even Toby.

The group had mostly been apart the past two months (except for Josh and Donna's wedding, of course) -- Toby and Toni stayed in D.C. to help the Governor (Vice President, CJ corrected herself) to help the Vice President's transition; Josh flew back and forth from San Francisco to D.C. to slog through legal paperwork and wine-and-dine potential clients; and Donna, CJ, Evan, Sam, and Jesse worked on readjusting to civilian life in San Francisco. Still, they'd fallen right back into their campaign patterns upon their reunion in D.C. Specifically, they'd started the rotating hotel room pattern back up.

Sam and Jesse had been the last to fly in, arriving only the day before the inauguration, as Jesse's current project afforded him very little time away. The night Sam and Jesse arrived, the rest of them had all eventually shown up at Sam's hotel room door and settled in for a bull session.

Tonight, though, CJ and Evan were the first at Sam's door, CJ in her deep blue gown, Evan in a flawless black tux. Her husband looked quite gorgeous, if CJ did say so herself. He'd eschewed the traditional white shirt in favor of all black, his high-collared silk shirt mostly covered by the buttoned jacket.

Sam answered the door, resplendent as always in his tailored tuxedo. If CJ didn't know better, she would think he'd struck some Faustian bargain whereby he'd never lose his almost unnatural good looks.

CJ raised an eyebrow. "Lookin' good, Sparky."

Sam raked her slim form with his gaze. "You know, if I was attracted to women," he began, grinning saucily.

Evan shook his head. "Oh, hell, no," he interrupted good-naturedly, looping an arm around his wife's waist and pressing a kiss to her hairline. "This one's all mine."

Smiling, Sam beckoned them inside, calling out to Jesse, who appeared in the doorway of the bathroom looking quite flustered. He was barefoot but had already donned his pressed black pants and crisp white shirt. His bowtie dangled undone from his collar. When the possibility of Jesse attending the Inaugural Ball had first been raised, CJ's irrepressible press secretary instincts had kicked in; she couldn't help but worry about the prospect. But Toni, who'd apparently had the same foreboding, had assured CJ that she'd spoken to both Susan Douglas-Radford and Mark Haskell. Both had insisted that Sam bring his boyfriend. CJ had decided to push aside her lingering worries about the right-wing press and do her best to make sure Sam and Jesse had a fabulous time.

"CJ!" Jesse greeted, obviously relieved. "You're here. Great."

"Well, hello to you, too." Evan grinned.

"Sorry," Jesse apologized sheepishly. "I just need to borrow your wife for a moment."

"Sure," Evan answered. "Just make sure to give her back in one piece."

Laughing, CJ moved to Jesse's side. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Sam is no help," Jesse declared. "I can't tie this damn bowtie."

CJ stepped in front of him, taking the ends of the soft fabric and expertly tying it. Jesse stood quietly, tilting his head back to give her better access. She patted his shoulder and gave Sam a look. "What? Is that a clip-on, Sam?"

"No," Sam answered, rolling his eyes. "I can tie my own tie, but I can't seem to get the hang of tying someone else's."

Evan pondered the issue, his hands moving unconsciously to his throat. "Yeah, I could see how that would be difficult."

"Men," CJ murmured, happy that the nervous tension seemed to be leaving Jesse. Sort of. He still seemed a little jittery.

"Yeah," Jesse muttered. "Sam helpfully pointed out that, as a 42-year-old man, I should be able to tie my own bowtie."

"Well, you should," Sam pointed out.

Evan stifled a laugh.

Jesse glared at his lover. "I didn't spend my thirties going to fundraisers with the President," he pointed out.

Sam grinned at him. "Neither did I."

For a moment, it was a toss up whether Jesse would be annoyed or amused by his boyfriend's literal response. Then he threw up his hands and said to CJ, "Do you see what I deal with?"

"Jesse, honey," CJ said, "I dealt with Sam every day for five years."

"Hey!" Sam protested, laughing.

"Don't bother," Evan told him, leaning insolently against the back of the sofa. "It appears your boyfriend and my wife are in the mood to--"

"Say we're in the mood to bitch," CJ interrupted wryly. "I dare you."

Evan gave her an injured look. "I was going to say 'commiserate,' CJ. I can't imagine what would give you the impression--"

"Oh, shut up," CJ laughed, as another knock interrupted them.

Jesse retreated to the bathroom while Sam answered the door. "Toby!" he greeted happily. "Come in. Toni, you're looking lovely."

And she did look lovely, CJ thought. Toni wore a deep maroon gown with considerable décolletage, and a bright grin. Toby, in his well-cut tuxedo, escorted her into the room, one hand lightly on the small of her back. They seemed easy with each other again, with no hint of the strange tension that had been hanging between them the night before.

CJ suspected the tension had something to do with Toby's decision to decline Vice President Douglas-Radford's job offer in favor of starting up Lyman & Ziegler Consulting. (Or possibly Ziegler & Lyman Consulting. That, CJ thought, was another unresolved issue.) Toni hadn't really understood Toby's reluctance to join the administration; and CJ would be willing to bet that Toby being Toby, he hadn't bothered to explain himself. Maybe Toni'd dragged it out of him the night before, CJ mused.

"CJ," Toby said, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. CJ raised her eyebrows at him, but he merely shrugged. "I can't be a gentleman?"

"Evidence would suggest," she shot back, grinning.

Toby rolled his eyes and moved over to shake hands with Evan. Toni scanned CJ's fitted gown. "That dress is gorgeous," she said, smiling up at CJ, who grinned back.

"Thanks. This color is beautiful on you."

Toni flushed a little and glanced over at Jesse, who'd emerged from the bathroom holding his tuxedo jacket in one hand, still barefoot. "Jesse," she said. "You're looking hot."

The man in question flushed. Taking pity on his friend, Evan crossed to Jesse's side. "Don't pay them any attention. They're man-crazy."

CJ opened her mouth to hurl a rejoinder, but was interrupted by another knock.

And then Josh was there, managing to look respectable and distinguished even in his slightly rumpled tux and irrepressible as always. Donna, in a simple but stunning black dress, followed him in the door, playing the familiar role of indulgent companion. In her own special way, of course, which included frequent admonitions for Josh to stop pacing around the room and making everyone dizzy, dammit. Josh beamed at her and addressed the others. "You'll have to forgive my wife," he said, indulging his new habit of using the word "wife" as often as possible. Not that CJ blamed him; they'd only been married for three weeks. "She is," Josh continued, "a little overexcited."

Donna gave him a baleful look in lieu of an answer, which set CJ off laughing. "Right, Josh," CJ scoffed. "You're the one trembling, but she's overexcited."

"I am not trembling," Josh protested, clasping his hands behind his back. It was quite amusing to watch him try to contain that boundless energy long enough for Donna to smooth a wrinkle from his tux. After a moment, he shrugged out of Donna's grasp and started pacing. "Hey, Toby," he said with a grin, "did CJ tell you I've lined up our first client?"

"Oh, don't start this again," CJ groaned, beckoning to her husband. He made his way over to sit beside her on the small sofa.

"How can we have clients when we don't have a name?" Toby asked, sweeping his tuxedo jacket open to place his hands on his hips.

"We do have a name," Josh countered with a smirk. "Lyman & Ziegler."

"Ziegler & Lyman," Toby retorted.

"I don't suppose we could convince our colleagues to vote on this," Josh commented with a devilish glance around the room.

Sam started to shake his head, "Oh, no. No way, Josh. You can't possibly expect--"

"He's joking," Donna interrupted with an exasperated look at her husband. "Josh, tell Sam you're joking."

"Spoilsport," Josh muttered, but the grin he gave Donna belied his words. "There's no need to vote on it," Josh continued in what was for him a reasonable tone. CJ had learned to dread Josh's attempts at being reasonable. "We'll simply put the names in alphabetical order," he continued. "Lyman & Ziegler."

Toby didn't deign to reply, turning his attention instead to Jesse, who was tugging on his shoe. "How's the experiment going?" Toby asked.

Jesse looked momentarily taken aback at the introduction of an apolitical subject, but he recovered quickly. "Pretty well. Actually, the preliminary results are quite promising, considering--" He broke off with a self-conscious laugh. "Sorry. Too detailed of an answer, huh?"

Toby actually grinned at him. "Yes."

"Wait," Sam said, turning his attention to Josh. "Did you say that you and Toby have a client?"

"No," CJ answered emphatically, patting her husband's knee.

Donna rolled her eyes and dropped into a convenient chair, recognizing that the ensuing discussion would take quite some time. Toni leaned against the low bureau and fixed her expectant gaze on Josh, who was looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Josh nodded. "Yes," he argued. "San Francisco is in desperate need of a city councilman, and--"

"Councilor," Donna corrected. CJ flashed her an appreciative grin.

"Councilor," Josh repeated with a careless shrug. "And I have found the perfect person to run."

Delighted, Sam turned to CJ. "CJ! You're going to run--"

"Not me," CJ denied, glaring in Josh's general direction.

Toby was the first to guess, of course. He cast a speculative look Evan's way. "Do you have any desire to run?"

"Wait," Sam frowned. "Evan? You're going to run for city council?"

"That's wonderful!" Toni chimed in.

"No, no, no." Evan shook his head. "Josh seems to be under the misapprehension that I have some hidden desire to run for city council, but--"

"Josh," CJ interrupted, "is just bored."

"I am not bored," Josh protested.

"You really are," Donna countered, grinning up at him.

"I'm really not," Josh insisted.

"You volunteered to help me sort my index cards."

"No, I volunteered to--"

"Josh!"

He shrugged, unapologetic. "Anyway, I happen to think that Evan would be an excellent city councilor."

CJ nodded. "There's no doubt about that."

Evan shifted beside CJ, embarrassed by the attention. "Look, as much as I appreciate--"

"No, it's a good idea," Sam opined, studying Evan. "The Christian Right has been running stealth candidates in local elections for years. They've had more luck in the South and the Midwest, of course, but even California has been targeted. We need as many of the good guys in the game as possible."

"As flattering as all of this is--"

"Seriously, Evan," Josh interrupted, his smirk replaced by that earnest look that appeared all too rarely. "Would you consider being the first client of Ziegler & Lyman Consulting?"

CJ glanced over at Toby, who busied himself with his cigar to hide his reaction to Josh's tacit agreement to the agency's name.

After a long moment of silence, Evan shrugged. "Aren't local elections a little below your level?"

Josh flashed the dimples. "Downticket races are important too."

"You really are bored, Josh," Sam remarked with a smile. He straightened the cuff of his shirt.

Evan said, "I thought you guys were based in D.C."

"We're bicoastal," Josh answered. "At least until Donna's done with school."

Evan glanced up at his wife, who gave him an encouraging smile. "It's your decision, sweetie," she said. "You came campaigning with me; you know I'd do the same for you."

"Hardly the same scale," he pointed out with a grin.

"Still," she said. "Consider it."

He held her gaze for a long moment, then leaned in and gave her a quick, heartfelt kiss. "I'll do that," he murmured. Then he glanced at Toby and Josh. "Let me think about it."

Josh grinned widely, assuming, no doubt, that he'd won. "Take all the time you need."

Donna pushed herself up from the sofa. "Can we go now?" Josh was at her side immediately, offering his arm. Donna rolled her eyes at him, but slipped her arm through his.

"Yeah," Jesse answered, shrugging into his tuxedo jacket. Sam straightened his lover's collar with an affectionate smile.

CJ watched, amused, as Evan stood, turned to her with a half-bow, and offered his hand. She accepted his help, smoothed her dress, and followed Toby and Toni to the door. As they checked for various hotel room keys, purses, and wallets, yet another knock sounded.

They must have looked silly, CJ thought later, the eight of them crowding the door as it swung open. Jed and Abbey Bartlet stood in the hallway, their Secret Service detail a few respectful yards away. Jed looked elegant as always in his tuxedo, and Abbey was gorgeous in silver silk.

"Well," Jed said with a kindly smile. "I guess Leo's trip up to Josh's room was a fool's errand."

"Sir!" CJ said, delighted. She'd know the Bartlets would be attending the Ball, but had assumed they would see them down in the ballroom. She should've known the president would want a moment with his former staffers. CJ squeezed past Sam and into the hallway to give them each a kiss on the cheek. "Abbey, hello."

Hugs and greetings were exchanged, then Sam remembered himself and invited the Bartlets in.

"Thank you, Sam," Abbey said, his hand clasped in hers. "But I think it might be a bit overcrowded in there. Shall we head downstairs?"

As the boisterous group made its way down the hallway, Abbey clasped a dumbstruck Jesse's hand in hers to introducing herself. As if he didn't know who she was. CJ watched the interplay, amused.

Amassing in front of the elevators, the president discussed the Inauguration, the probable makeup of Haskell's cabinet, and the new Congressional session at some length, with some good-natured interjections from the others.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Leo McGarry, clad in a tuxedo and squiring Jordan Kendall. When he saw them all there, his motley crew dressed up in their finery, he gave them that familiar, crooked grin.

"Well, hello, kids. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Laughing, the entire gang squashed themselves into the elevator, colleagues and husbands elbow to elbow with boyfriends and Secret Service agents. CJ found herself pressed in between Evan and Sam, not a bad place to be, all things considered.

"This is cozy," Josh said, pulling Donna closer to him.

"Perhaps," Jesse commented dryly, "I should've mentioned my claustrophobia before." Sam took his hand.

"Hey, Leo," Toby said, leaning past Toni so that he could see his former boss, "Did Josh offer you a job yet?"

"Josh," Jed Bartlet remarked, "offered me a job already."

"Doing what?" Abbey asked, tossing her husband a smile.

"Menial office work, no doubt," Leo answered.

"We have our first client," Josh boasted.

CJ groaned, leaning against her husband. "This again? Really?"

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. The group spilled out into the elegant lobby, still chattering. Jed and Abbey Bartlet took the lead, the others falling into step behind them.

"Evan Drexler," Josh continued, ignoring CJ, "for city councilman."

"Councilor," Donna corrected him again.

"Are they going to play the song again?" Toni wondered.

Toby muttered. "I really can't stand that song."

"Which song?" asked Jed Bartlet.

" _Born in the USA_ ," his former staffers answered, almost in unison.

"Oh," Leo said, mouth twisted in distaste, "that song."

"I'm not much for popular music," Jed Bartlet said, warming to his theme, "but that song captures the plight of the working class--"

A chorus of groans interrupted him, and his wife pulled him forward, towards the entrance to the grand ballroom. Leo gave his former staffers a grin, then ushered Jordan forward. Toby and Toni followed, Josh and Donna just behind them, and Sam and Jesse at their heels. CJ looked around at this group of people, this remarkable group of people, and she found herself laughing. What a cast of characters, she thought. And after all the missteps, they'd made it back.

Evan slowed, matching his steps to hers. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"It just never ends," CJ answered, taking Evan's arm and heading into the Inaugural Ball.

THE END

09.19.02

**Author's Note:**

> Authors' Notes: 
> 
> * The one-question, candidate-driven debate actually did happen in Illinois during the late 80s. Hell if I can remember the candidates, though I think one of them might have been a Daley. :::hangs head:::  
> * The letter-writing scandal actually happened on a smaller scale (at least two fraudulent letters were sent to one regional newspaper) to Craig Benson, a pro-business Republican candidate for Governor in New Hampshire this election cycle.  
> * Per the U.S. Census Bureau (care of Morgan Gower), the 1998 median income was $42,148. I gave it a $2,000 inflationary bump. :)  
> * The demographic figures on the gender gap in voting trends were taken from the Center for American Women and Politics, hosted by Rutgers University.


End file.
